


Silent Invasion

by AnnAisu



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Bleeding Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Give it a try?, Humor, Inner Dialogue, No pairings - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Sarcasm, Self-Insert, Slow Moving Story, should be fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnAisu/pseuds/AnnAisu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond tried to run away from his life; I ended up running into it. I thought it would be fine, then I ended up living it. Parts of it are amazing, filled with incredible feats. ...Then there's the insanity, the death, the pervading fear, the lack of control...and, of course, the end of the world. How did I ever convince myself that even though I had no choice,  that this would end even remotely well?<br/>-This story is almost a novelization of the game, with minor changes slowly creeping in...eventually. No crack, no overpowered character, but exactly what you might expect when a lesser-than-the-average person is forced through all the craziness of the Assassin's Creed series. AKA, a bit of snark trying to cover the fear and panic, someone thrown in WAY over their head and compensating by going a little too deep into Desmond's ancestor's head, some moments of sheer amazement that help balance the scales a little bit, nightmares, and panic attacks. -<br/>(In all honesty, the only difference between me and Desmond - escapists, the both of us - is that I have future knowledge, and he doesn't have Asperger's syndrome)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September 1st - Welcome to Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Summary: It would be absolutely fascinating to actually experience the Animus, to leap and fly with Desmond’s ancestors, wouldn’t it? Frankly, it’s as incredible and as terrifying as it seems; then there’s always the knowledge that this story ends with your death. That kind of puts a horrible spin on everything, and Desmond’s situation was terrible enough before I, well, became him. Yay.

When I woke up, slowly dragging my mind away from the realm of dreams, my body felt wrong; foreign. I kept my eyes firmly shut as I tried to remember the last dregs of my dream, searching for a reason why I might feel so…off. Several minutes later, my body still felt weird and I couldn’t remember anything of my sleeping imaginations, beyond the fact that the last one was amazing, weird, and scary all at once. Giving up recalling the dreams as a futile effort, I tried to narrow down what felt so different than normal and figure out just what was so wrong as to set off the alarm bells ringing in my head.

Groaning at the effort, I dragged a hand to my face, laid it over my eyes, and frowned. There was something wrong with this simple action as well. I pinched the bridge of my nose, blindly reaching to the right for my glasses with my other hand. Instead of hitting my bedside table, my appendage swept through empty air. Grumbling under my breath – and I knew my voice was hoarse in the mornings, but I didn’t realize it sounded _this_ deep – I groped for the edge of the pseudo-wood.  When, after all of my fumbling failed and I still couldn’t find the bed table, I grudgingly opened my eyes.

It took several moments for my sight to clear, but when it did, I instantly felt even more on edge than before. Something was _definitely_ wrong! I could clearly see the ceiling and walls, a plain white with an alarming lack of geeky posters. When I hauled my still-tired body into a sitting position, I could actually see the entirety of the room in precise detail, and absolutely nothing looked right. My bed table and glasses – which I apparently no longer needed, _holy crow everything is so clear_ – were missing. My tall dresser had turned into a tiny, squat thing, and my closet had decided to jump up and hide itself away overnight.

What in this world was going on? I slung my legs out of bed to stand up, and my head hung low in the persistent exhaustion of waking up when you haven’t had enough sleep the night before. It took several seconds before I finally realized just one of the reasons why I’d felt so wrong when I had woken up. “Where are my boobs?” I squeaked out, my voice deeper than I expected and only startling me further. “What happened to my voice?” When I put a hand to my throat, I felt a distinctly hard knob under my fingers. I pushed at the edges of the protrusion, noticing that it was firmly buried under the skin of my throat. “I have an Ann’s Apple now? What in this world is going on?”

My breasts were gone, I had mysteriously grown an Adam’s apple, and a quick check told me that, yes, I was now fully male with all the parts entailed, and that using the bathroom would be very different now. My bladder chose that moment to let me know that visiting the bathroom was indeed a requirement in my very near future. _Oh that’s great._ I had no idea where I was, or why I was suddenly a guy, but surely there had to be a bathroom nearby?

I quickly hurried to the closest door, and halleluiah, there was the bathroom. Several highly embarrassing minutes later, I was thoroughly scrubbing my hands, trying to forget what had just happened. I had always wondered what having a- well, what having male organs would be like, and if it really was so much easier to pee. Now I knew, and I still didn’t know what to think.

I was pretty sure I was in shock, and I knew that I didn’t want to actually fully comprehend this situation. Shock was providing a nice little buffer that was letting me accept everything as it newly was, and I could panic over everything later once I knew just what this ‘everything’ was. Calmly not freaking out, I went back to the _–my? -_ room and proceeded to open the squat dresser. Rifling through the drawers, I found some blue jeans, a black shirt with an eagle decal, and a matching white hoodie. I didn’t really care what they looked like; I just wanted something to hide the odd flatness of my chest, and a hoodie was a great way to hide the foreign body shape. I did appreciate the eagle motif, but I personally would have preferred something a lot less white; maybe a black version of the hoodie instead?

Once I had awkwardly changed my clothes, I went back into the bathroom to get a better look at ‘myself’ and my new appearance. I had already noticed that my hands were different; they were callused, lightly scarred, with the fingertips especially roughed up. I used these newly scarred hands of mine to flick on the bathroom light, and I could finally see what my new body looked like. Ignoring the feeling of apprehension that told me to just go back to bed and sleep off this weird dream, I forced myself to focus and finally began examining myself in the mirror.

The first feeling that struck me, aside from the weird, shock-muted sense of wrongness, was the impression that I had seen this person somewhere before. I was immediately distracted from this thought by the almost complete loss of my hair, my waist-length locks receding almost entirely back into my head. I bit back a childish whimper at the loss of nearly a decades work, now reduced to a mere crew cut, and instead focused on my face. It was far darker than my easily burnt skin, and my permanently tired eyes had shifted into a more alert looking golden-brown. I couldn’t compare the facial structure to my normal face – I would have to leave that to someone who could actually identify faces properly – and instead focused on what I could tell apart. My nose was thinner, and had a sharper edge. My lips were thinner as well, with a scar running down the right side of my lip.

I distracted myself with this new feature for a moment, letting a small smile play over my newly scarred lips. I’d always given my video game characters a little facial scar, and now here I was proudly sporting one of my own. Not only was it a neat little scar, if it had been on the other side of my mouth, I could have passed as one of my favorite video game characters. I watched in the mirror as my smirk twisted the shape of my lips, distorting the scar slightly along with it. Yep, I could almost pass as Altaïr with this face.

Finding some humor in this crazy situation, I flipped my hood over my face as I turned away and left the bathroom. Why not increase the similarities? It was something to distract myself with as I managed to keep my panic forced down. It also covered my poor hair, and a shudder wracked my body at the picture of my newly shortened brown hair. Was it wrong that I almost found that bit the most traumatizing? Even the new method of relieving myself hadn’t thrown me as much as my new hair had, and that had been really weird. Maybe I was just trying to distract myself with something trivial instead of focusing on the actual problem… like just who in the world was I now? I certainly wasn’t a college schoolgirl anymore, not with this decidedly masculine and surprisingly fit body.

Once I was back in the room I had awoken to, I tried to find anything that might help me discover who and where I was. Several minutes of searching assured me that yes, all of my clothes were this boring, my nicest shirt was simply a button up white dress shirt; and no, there weren’t any handy journals or diary fragments handily lying around. I did find a wallet, hidden oh so sneakily away on the top of my dresser, with some ID and a chunk of cash inside, but no credit cards or pictures.  According to my motorcycle license, my name was Nolan North and I was 28 years old – and apparently not an organ donor. There were several grocery store receipts inside the wallet, which I had seemingly paid in cash, but there was nothing else exciting, marginally interesting, or even slightly distinctive inside.

After not finding anything else in the area I had awoken within, I gave up on the bedroom and decided to search somewhere else. I tried going through the other door, hoping that it would lead to the rest of the house, or apartment, or wherever I was. It did indeed open into a hallway, and I proceeded to explore the rest of the floor. It was tiny and white, lacking many of the personal touches that naturally accumulated over time. There was a small bookshelf in the living room, but no TV. The fridge was well stocked with a mixture of tasty and healthy food. There was an abundance of non-perishable food in the closet, but I focused on the boxes of cereal. There was no reason for me to keep searching on an empty stomach, was there?

Somehow I managed to find the cupboard containing the bowls on my first try, and I then proceeded to pour myself a nice bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, the cup of which also took me a single search attempt to find. I set them both down on the small kitchen table, and picked up the newspaper lying out as I sat down. It was already opened to the business section, clearly already rifled through. Deep within the page it was open to, was a headline that immediately caught my eye: _Abstergo Pharmaceuticals Recall Product – Just What Went Wrong?_

My eyes jerked to a halt as my brain struggled to understand, and then carefully looked higher on the paper for the date: August 31, 2012. 2012; no, there was no way this paper was even a year old, much less two! My mind was racing and screaming over the inconsistencies that had kept occurring once I had awoken but could no longer be held at bay. It wasn’t 2012, Abstergo didn’t exist, and I did not belong in a male body! I did not wake up in a body not my own with a completely different gender, and I did not wear a white hoodie or have a very distinctive lip scar!

Except… apparently, I did. _Well, shit._ I numbly slumped back in my chair and mechanically ate the cereal. Somehow I managed to avoid making a mess, despite the fact that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the Abstergo article and the damning date. Surely there was a rational reason behind these crazy circumstances? It could be some weird prank – moving me to a new building, creating a fake newspaper – except that wouldn’t even come close to explaining the apparent body swap.

There really was no explanation for suddenly waking up in, apparently, the form of Desmond Miles. Even as I was frantically trying to reconcile everything that was happening, I mentally smacked myself for not recognizing Desmond earlier. The lip scar alone should have informed me, but looking at a real-life, full detail reflection was completely different then looking at an arrangement of pixels on a screen. Except… the ID upstairs identified the new me as Nolan, not Desmond… because Desmond hadn’t gone by his name in 9 years. He apparently hadn’t gone by his actual age for as long as that, as well.

Was I really Desmond, though? I pulled back the left sleeve of my hoodie, pushing the cloth up until it bunched just under my elbow and stared at the tattoo this action revealed. I raised the inked arm closer to my eyes for a better look, trying to find the meaning behind the swirling patterns. After several minutes of finally getting to see the tattoo up close, I had to admit defeat in interpreting the design. So maybe a tattoo wasn’t the defining feature of Desmond, but when it was combined with the rest of the distinctive differences, it made for a pretty compelling argument.

 _Alright; I’m still fine, but I’ve replaced Desmond’s mind._ I breathed in slowly and tried to reconcile the incredible situation. I could just barely accept the fact that I was apparently firmly entrenched in Desmond’s body, but how could this have come to be? The most obvious possibility – and the one I wanted to immediately discount – was that I had gone insane, drooling and chewing on my tongue, locked up in a padded room somewhere if I was lucky. I winced and pushed that possibility aside – if that was the case, there was nothing I could do, and I would enjoy this insanity while it lasted. My second idea was only a tiny bit better than the first. If I was in a universe where Abstergo exists, maybe I could be in an Animus reliving Desmond’s memories? Except, there were no guiding voices calling from thin air, there were no Animi where I came from, and there was no such thing as an actual Abstergo company on the world in which I lived. I could try to intentionally desynchronize with Desmond despite these facts, but that could be a very bad idea; considering that to desynch would mean either I died or I completely screwed something up beyond all hope of repair. _Or I fell into the water as Altaïr, but that doesn’t really count._

I didn’t want to do either of those things just in case my third possibility was the reality of the situation: I had somehow been transported into an alternate universe and inserted into Desmond’s body. Now, this normally wouldn’t have even appeared on a standard person’s list of possibilities, but I was a huge fan of fanfiction and alternate universes were pretty standard for the course in many of those stories.  They were actually a pretty common thing/theme, especially when dealing with crossovers. Like, say, a crossover between the real world and Assassin’s Creed.

Transportation into an alternate universe and overtaking Desmond’s body was by far a more appealing idea than that of having gone completely insane. If this was an alternate version of the game world, which I had recently run through in a marathon play, I had the foreknowledge of exactly what to expect. If I was insane and this was my minds way of coping with the trauma, ‘playing’ through Desmond’s story properly might lead to me waking up at the end. If I was trapped within an Animus via Abstergo, it didn’t much matter what I did. Other theories on to what happened were getting a bit, “far out there,” even for me, so I decided to just stick with being trapped within Desmond’s body in an alternate universe as my working theory.

So…right; where was I? I’m Desmond – and wow, wasn’t that weird. I’ve always had problems with keeping myself and the characters that I played as separate, but this was the first time I could say, “I’m Desmond,” and actually mean it quite literally. I knew I had a problem identifying with the protagonists far too easily: I completely mangled the pronouns when describing them or what happened in the game, using ‘I’ and ‘we’ instead of ‘he’; I copied some of their verbal ticks and spoke like them immediately after playing; and I managed to carry myself like them if I truly identified with them, mostly unintentionally.  I had tried copying Altaïr’s mindset and moves for days while playing the first game, but had faced less than a rousing success when I had attempted to copy him intentionally.

Unfortunately, I have a somewhat negative character mindset: I have a malleable personality and a weak sense of self to go along with my low self-esteem. Thankfully, video game characters bled over less than book characters, but I was still crap at keeping myself separate from them. Well, at least that would make acting like Desmond easier: I had just gotten off an Assassin’s Creed binge, playing through the entire series and gorging myself on the fanfiction available, and I had absorbed enough of Desmond that I should be able to act as him for at least a little while…

Wait – rewind, pause, replay. “Characters bled over.” The bleeding effect; oh God, I’m going to go completely insane before this is over, quite literally. If the bleeding effect was bad enough for Desmond, who seemed to have a pretty secure sense of self, how would I fare when I wasn’t even in my own body? Would I forget myself entirely with nothing at all to remind me of myself? Would I bleed Desmond as well as the others, and not be able to remember that I wasn’t actually Desmond without any proof otherwise? My breath was beginning to race again and I forced myself to stop, breathing deeply and watching the spoon shaking in my hand. I focused on the spoon and my breathing, trying to keep steady as my distorted reflection finally stabilized and my breathing leveled out. Now was definitely not the time for a panic attack; I had to keep considering the situation and the possibilities trapped within.

Would I be able to access Desmond’s ancestors through the Animus? It should probably work – I’m in Desmond’s body, and AC4 _which I’ve never played, but I’ve read enough about to get the gist of it_ apparently proved that Abstergo didn’t need Desmond’s mind to go memory diving, just bits of Desmond’s body and DNA; my body, now. A better question was whether or not I was going to go along with the Animus joyride Abstergo puts me through – put Desmond through. I could leave New York right now, hop on my motorcycle and leave for anywhere else. I could just not show up at work today, or I could try and fight back against the Abstergo agents sent to capture me.

A self-deprecating smirk slid across my face for a moment as I imagined using my almost non-existent fighting skills against a crowd of well-trained opponents. The last option was a crappy choice and wouldn’t work for far more than one reason. Besides, why would I avoid Abstergo? If I didn’t become captured and thus ‘rescued’ by Lucy and eventually led to the cave, who was going to activate the First Civilization Artifacts and stop the planet from burning? My smirk faded as I realized just what playing along as Desmond and saving the Earth would entail. It wasn’t just inevitable insanity I would face, but a martyr’s painful death.

My breathing began to once again race out of control as I the possible repercussions of this new situation began to bare down on me. Desmond had not had a happy journey, not once in the moments between his capture and his death. He had first faced being a prisoner, and then after I had escaped, I had become functionally insane before becoming comatose, reviving long enough only to discover a possible end of the world and dying to stop it. A painful death, burning alive to stop the burning of the world –

My breaths were coming out in heaving gasps and my chest was starting to hurt. Why was I on the floor? My hands were hurting and my lungs were bursting and my breathing was burning and I needed to breathe, breathe, breathe in… breathe out; breathe, breathe, _breathe!_   With a shuddering gasp, my panting began to slow incrementally. I rode out the panic and fear, shaking as I struggled to calm my breathing. Nose, mouth; nose, mouth; breathe slowly…

I carefully relaxed into a sitting position on the floor as my body slowly normalized. Well. That was a larger panic attack than I’d had in a while. I idly wondered how long this episode had taken, as I hadn’t looked at a clock before falling into my state of utter panic.  Instinctively turning towards the only clock in the kitchen and taking in the time, my body stiffened in panic. _Crap!_ I shot forward in a sudden flurry of motion, frantically cleaning away the mess I’d made of my ‘breakfast’. I was going to be late for work! In my panic and instinctive worry, my body operated pretty much entirely on auto-pilot. I rushed around the house, struggling to get ready for work as quickly as possible, grabbing the wallet of lies and rushing down to where my motorcycle was waiting. Soon I was soaring down the city streets, driving the route that would take me to my work at – the Tempest?

The incorrect thought finally brought me out of my instinctual actions and I blinked, finally fully registering just what was going on around me. I was at a traffic light, I had driven to said traffic light, and I knew exactly where to drive from here if I wanted to make it to work on time. Carefully guiding the small vehicle through the streets, I used my now-present conscious mind to figure out just what I was going to do. Before that though, I had to correct myself and remember the actual name of Desmond’s workplace. Was it Bad Wolf? I shook my helmeted head as I took another turn. That wasn’t it, but it was close… Bad… Bad… Bad something…Bad Tempest? No- Bad Weather; that was it! Hah, I got it.

One mystery solved, I turned my attention to the job itself even as I pulled into a nearby parking space. I had apparently finished the commute to work without a problem, but would I have the same success when it came to actually preforming my job? There was no time to guess as I was already heading into the back, slipping off my hoodie and into a white dress shirt. Several minutes later, I had finished preparing for my shift and stepped into the main area.

Time began to blur past as I was forced to focus entirely on what I was doing, on who wanted what, and on how to give the patrons what they wanted. I barely had a chance to think about my new situation in the bustle of the evening crowd. Finally, a few hours later when I could confidently take control of what I was doing and the gut-clenching panic of being forced into a new situation faded, I turned my thoughts away from running in fear and towards dealing with my new problems.

 _So, this is what I have to deal with._ I was working Desmond’s job at Bad Weather, and he had been kidnapped when he was heading home from here. His capture was in September… I took a moment to mentally layout an incredibly rough timeline of when everything happened, working from the end backwards. December 21 was doomsday, October 29 or 31 was the start of Assassin’s Creed 3, and I was ‘rescued’ by Lucy in the second week of September after spending a week in Abstergo’s clutches. I distinctly remember none of the e-mails I ‘hacked’ at Abstergo had been dated after September 10 th – the 9th was the last I could remember, but I wasn’t too sure – and I spent a week in Abstergo’s clutches. I grimaced, knowing this was a horrible summation of the timeline, but I could focus on it and try to figure out more exact dates when I had a calendar and could write them down. The important part was that Abstergo had me within the first few days of September, and it was already the end of August.

As if responding to my thoughts, one of my coworkers flipped over the little day-calendar to September 1st as the clock struck midnight. _Well…crap._ I sucked in a breath as I tried to guess how long I had. Would it be tonight that I was kidnapped? Would it be tomorrow, or the day after at the very latest? I decided that it was probably today, mostly because that was the most inconvenient. _Heh, inconvenient – that’s a bit of an understatement._ I would be facing the crazy, brainwashed, animus-trained Templar agent with the next few days… probably the next few hours. I spared a moment from working to gently thump my head on the nearest hard surface. I repeated this procedure until the urge to curse and scream finally receded.

I didn’t have much time to acclimate or prepare; I could deal with that. _No big deal, really._ Keeping in mind the limited time, what were the most prominent problems and possible solutions? I sucked in a breath even as a patron requested a “Shirley Templar.” I forced a little laugh as I served it to him, definitely _not_ needing the reminder or the distraction right that minute.

Abstergo was definitely the biggest problem, but I couldn’t avoid them, whether I wanted to or not. Not only was being kidnapped by the company the first stepping stone to saving the world _(Irony, anyone?)_ , but there was the simple fact that they wouldn’t let me quietly slip away. They had caught my scent after so many years, and their resident insane bloodhound would not let me go free without chasing after me like a rabid lunatic. So, despite my biggest problem being Abstergo itself, I had to put aside that problem for now and do nothing but let them progress as they willed. _God, I’m such a coward. Surely there would be something I could do if I thought I could actually go through with it?_

Alright, so I had to ignore the Abstergo issue for a moment, but what I was _really_ worried about was losing my sense of self, of forgetting just who I was – who I am. If I had more time, I probably could have come up with a working plan for retaining my persona in secret. As it is, though, I had no idea how to remember 1 single girl and the fact that I was she in the face of my oncoming madness and deluge of other people’s memories! Drunken giggling interrupted my worries, and I turned to see a girl trying to look ‘seductive’. I was _not_ feeling seduced: A, she was drunk; B, she was horrible at looking seductive, but I would give her points for pulling it off with confidence despite that; C, I had only _just_ left me female body and hadn’t really reconciled with that yet – I wasn’t about to go exploring my new male form and trying to figure out what my sexuality was just yet; D, I didn’t do casual sex – or any sex at all, really; and E, she was drunk. _Not getting into that mess just yet._

I molded my face into a polite but distant smile, relying on the part of me that was still Desmond to take care of this problem the same way it had taken care of the drive and my lack of bartending knowledge. Several minutes later, I was in possession of a new phone number and a request that I, “Don’t forget about me, ‘kay?” I went to quietly toss the number aside when an idea struck. I might not want to remember her, but I did want to remember myself. A while later, after I’d found a black permanent marker and a spare moment, my tattoo had new symbols written within its lines. More specifically, I now had my name and phone number scrawled on the inside of my arm, imprinted on my flesh and much harder to forget. It would work for now, and probably for the next few days if I was careful with washing and remembered what it stood for, but it was nowhere near a permanent answer.

However, I was temporarily satisfied with my solution, so I turned to what the next problem might be. Lots of little problems were trying to swarm around and catch my attention, but with some effort, I focused on what might be a very vital problem. Could I actually go through with the script, act perfectly as Desmond for the bare minimum of a week? Was it necessary to get Desmond down perfectly, or even advisable? How much would not acting just like Desmond would have acted affect the story, and could I keep up Desmond’s personality and phrasings until the day I died? _That still sounds so unreal, like an abstract problem that can just be thrown around casually. Until the day I die – not some random date years into the future, but a set date with death in less than 4 months. I don’t think I can really believe that yet._

Would Abstergo even notice if I wasn’t the Desmond they expected – and what were they even expecting? Abstergo hadn’t been tracking me for long at all, and I – _Desmond_ – had been incredibly careful, so they shouldn’t know what Desmond was actually like normally. Any aberrations could be attributed to the kidnap, the Animus, or Altaïr. The only problem was if I threw the plot off by not preforming up to par, not being valuable enough for Lucy to ‘rescue’ me and bring me to the assassins. I was ‘saved’ because it was theorized that I would work better if I had a positive reason and was in friendly territory, and because I was so valuable. What if I did badly and they just went straight to harvesting my organs and sticking others through my ancestor’s memories? _Desmond’s_ ancestor’s memories, I meant. _Argh._

Lucy was one of my biggest problems. She was both my ticket out of Abstergo and to the Assassins. Yet she was a traitor, and had continued serving Abstergo despite our escape. Her reasons for serving Abstergo were some crap about them actually helping the world, but she did have her heart fixed on the right problem…just the wrong solution to that problem. She was actually a mostly good person, and she had liked Desmond. _I think she did, at least. This is one of those times where I wish I could actually figure those things out on my own, not have to be told about them bluntly via the Wiki and various fanfiction._ If she decided not to like me where she had liked Desmond, this whole venture could be completely screwed before it even began.

I blew out a breath as I began cleaning away my workspace, the end of my shift fast approaching. I didn’t really hold anything against Lucy, just that some stories ended up pairing her with Desmond, so I should be able to get along fine with her. She didn’t ever straight-out lie to me, so I could accept that. I wouldn’t exactly be telling her the full truth about myself, either. I finally just set the problem aside with my work shirt as I pulled my hoodie back on, about to leave the bar. It was 4 in the morning, and my shift had just ended. Mentally bracing myself, I finally began heading back towards my motorcycle, my senses on full alert. The Templars could be here any –

xxx

xxx

…

We have him.

…

Yes. Shoving him in the van as we speak, sir. Target will be delivered on schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done! I typed up over half of this back in March, but lost my notes on where I wanted to go next. You can thank the Assassin’s Creed Unity trailer (and song) for bringing me back to this fandom and finally finishing this first chapter. The formatting isn’t perfectly consistent – I ended up italicizing the thoughts I had while writing as thoughts I would be thinking in the second half, where I had merely brushed them aside before.  
> So, as all of you have realized, this is a shameless self-insert story. Obviously I’m not going to pop in and make everything perfect – I’ve already fallen apart and had a panic attack on the floor, and I have no clue what to do. I’m equal parts terrified and secretly, quite thrilled. Obviously I’ve planned for such a crazy occasion – I research all my games just in case reality warps and I end up trapped as the main character. …It’s a thing; it’s been that way since I first watched Pokémon.  
> I’m trying to balance what I can actually remember when I haven’t played Assassin’s Creed in a few months, the knowledge I have at my fingertips, and the fact that my ‘character’ just went through an Assassin’s Creed binge. …There’s also the fact that I haven’t finished Assassin’s Creed 3 because, well, I don’t want to see the ending.  
> If anyone is worrying about the pairings, so am I! I don’t think I’ll end up with anybody, but I’m not declaring anything off limits. It will probably just end up gen and I’ll have worried for nothing. Oddly enough, even though I prefer Desmond and Shaun over Desmond and Lucy, I’ve already written and planned out several scenes between Lucy and me. I don’t even know.  
> …Was it wrong of me to call Desmond the main character when he doesn’t exactly, um, exist? I kind of thought of having his consciousness sealed away until I – well, until I died, and then him coming back, but I don’t know. Ugh. Who can I add as main characters?  
> …Does my summary suck? What drew you in? What almost made you stop? Is the title alright? Most importantly, where can I improve? Thank you for reading, and for your feedback. Have a nice day!
> 
> Original upload: June 18, 2014  
> Last updated: June 25, 2014  
> Words w/o A/N: 5,169  
> Words with A/N: 5,638


	2. Those that increaseth knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voices bring pain with their words; knowledge brings pain with it's knowing.  
> I wake within a nightmare, of a washed-out garden and a city plaza flashing red. I only remember what's going on moment's before awakening, instantly confronted with my captors.  
> At least the bastard is telling me about his creation, if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There were very little changes to cannon last chapter: I think Desmond took public transportation. I, however, left the house a little late, so I had to ride the motorcycle. Because of this, they had to apprehend me a little sooner so I couldn’t reach my vehicle. The ended up simply knocking me out, rather than blindfolding Desmond and leading him into the van.
> 
> Nothing really changes from canon for this chapter, just the motivations behind what’s happening. Oh, and yes, the summary did change. Was it an improvement?
> 
> This entire chapter was 6 minutes and 18 seconds of gameplay. I’ve started recording the game, and that’s how I get the dialogue. It took 3 hours to just type it out before going back and doing a lot of little editing… Oh God, how long will it take to write the entire story, the tens of hours of gameplay if it takes me 30 times as long to type it up? … Mostly joking, I should be able to put more than 1 ten-minute recording once there’s a little less dialogue… which won’t be for a while. *Weak smile*

I felt myself slowly become aware, the world beginning to return. My mind was filled with a numb haze as it slowly came back online, thoughts moving sluggishly and not processing properly. I struggled to open my eyes and see where I was, but my head began to spin and the world swirled around me. I managed to take a single step forward without falling, blindly reaching out while the world righted itself. I could see now, everything cast in a strange and shaky blue hue, but the world was still filled with a painful haze. Everything around me seemed to have lost most of its color, pale shapes and forms dancing around me and shaking in the background.

The world began to flash red with pain as words filled the garden. The voice echoed strangely, carrying great weight and bringing suffering. _“I applied my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly.”_

My vision was blurred red with the agony brought on by those words, warping the familiar garden surrounding me. I focused past the pain, trying to understand where I was; I found myself standing, surrounded by women. I couldn’t pay them any attention; I couldn’t even look at them as my attention was drawn to the speaker. He shone with a radiant light, washing out our surroundings with the force of his presence, muting the words of the world with the force of his will. I tried to look at him, but I was blinded by his misleading, deceiving, brilliant light.

_“I see that this also was a chasing of the wind; for in much wisdom, is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.”_ The voice spoke in harsh and biting words, sounding like he was ripping out the throat of anyone who refused to listen.

My heart beat with painful bursts, anger and betrayal and hurt and love rising inside my chest. I turned away, unwilling and unable to face the figure for any longer. I forced myself to move away, heedless of the girls swarming around me and the world shook and spun. My thoughts were focused on one thing alone: I did not want to face this, to face him, to hear his _lies_. I began to run, shoving the figure in front of me aside. I knew this garden only had one entrance, and that entrance was blocked by the Betrayer, but if I could just _run-_

I ran, ran from the voice, ran from the figure, ran from the light, and ran from the deception, the betrayal, the _pain_. I left him behind, but his light stretched outward and lit the area, surrounding me, consuming my vision. I frantically tore myself away, ignoring the futility of the action and just trying to _get away._ The light surged, and I finally tore myself away entirely with a huge surge of mental effort.

The light began to recede, and a large weight lifted off of my heart, but it wasn’t enough. The sting of betrayal had faded only slightly, and the heavy pain of loss had changed from a Herculean burden to a weight possible to be borne on mortal shoulders. It was still too much, and there were still so many painful emotions swirling around inside. I readied myself to run again, but my surroundings began to change once more.

The scenery began to materialize as a small plaza, tinted blue and flashing red as an odd chirping began in the background. The twittering filled my ears as I tried to flinch away from it, but there was no escaping the sounds. There were people surrounding me, milling around aimlessly and ignoring the red trying to take over the blue.

A new voice spoke directly into my head. _“We’ve got a problem. I can’t anchor him to the memory, too much psychological trauma. He’s rejecting the treatment, retreating!”_ It was a female voice, one I’d heard before, but I couldn’t recognize it.

The voice had the right of it; I was rejecting the memory, the trauma, the emotions inspired by the figure. I didn’t want to remember that day; I didn’t want to recall that pain. I took a step away, realizing that I was once more standing still, and the world _swirled_ around me. Buildings flashed across my vision, disappearing within moments as I tore myself away from the associated memories. I stumbled over a random figure, trying to run before I could even see clearly, and fell to the floor.

_“Desmond, I need you to try to relax.”_   I struggled to my feet as another voice called out. I had heard this voice before as well, but it did not bring the same type or amount of pain that the other two brought. It was more unfamiliar, but there was a bell ringing in the back of my head, trying to tell just _what is going on?_ Was it me that the voice was talking to? Was it my name he had said?

_“Let me try and stabilize him.”_ It was the woman again, and the world spun slightly on its axis, knocking me into a vendor’s cart. It righted itself, and I began to move away, to pull away from the voices and the pain they brought. I fell away from the people, the pain, retreating to the heights that so often meant safety and solitude.

The male with a duller pain spoke, bringing more images with him. _“Focus; listen to the sound of my voice. Recognize that what you’re seeing isn’t real.”_ The world shook and spun in my confusion and pain. This wasn’t real? My vision wasn’t shaking and blurring with pain, and I wasn’t standing on top of a fountain? No- wait; I had just climbed a statue of a half-naked girl? The not real thing was beginning to win points. _“Just a picture of the past, it can’t hurt you.”_ This was all familiar, and my brain was kicking back into gear. A picture of the past, of knowledge and sorrow, I _knew_ what was going on; I just couldn’t put it together!

_“Dammit, it’s not working.”_ I knew this voice, I knew the person that owned it, I knew her name and why it made my heart hurt as well! I used my odd perch to examine my surroundings, trying to figure out how to _get away_ from everything that just wasn’t making sense!

_“Give it a moment, Miss Stillman, he’ll adjust.”_ Courtyard arches flashed before my eyes, and I shied away from even figuring out what emotions lurked beyond them. _”The first time is never easy.”_ More flashes came, a glimpse of rooftops, and buildings and _I didn’t want to be here!_ I launched myself off the fountain and towards the exit, trying once more to escape!

_“We’re losing him!”_ A tower replaced the world as I made it to the edges of the plaza, reaching out for the opening only to hit an almost invisible wall. **Error – Memory Sector Unavailable;** I tried to keep moving, but I just slid across the opening and reached the other side of the wall.

Familiar buildings, familiar towns, and all still filled with _pain_ , familiar memories I wanted to never remember. _“That’s_ enough _Miss Stillman!”_ The other man was angry, snapping at the kinder voice of pain.

_“We need to pull him out. Now.”_ The world was losing its coherence, everything falling into flashes of places from my memory as I struggled to run away and yet figure out just _what was going on!_ Something was suddenly pushing against my robes, and I was being shoved sideways and instinctively flailed my arms. I winced as I barely regained my balance, struggling to stay on my feet and _think._

_“Alright, Desmond;”_ He did say Desmond! Suddenly everything returned, my memories flashing past as I finally realized what was going on. The world swirled but I paid the image no mind, ignoring it as I frantically tried to rebuild myself and prepare for the conversation ahead. _“We’re going to try to bring you out now.”_

The world swirled one last time and then pulled forward with a soft white light, an electronic chirping whir sounding as my surroundings began to clear. My vision was filled with flickering blue images, and an outline began to appear as bars across the top and bottom of my vision. **LOADING** flashed in the corner, and I tried to force myself to calm down and not have another bloody panic attack already. It wasn’t working, and I could barely breathe, inhalations and exhalations running together as blue, blue images, blue towns, blue rooftops flashing through my mind and then the color changed to gray and white and I was waking up and –

“You okay?” The voice was soft, and a gentle face was looking at me from my side, but I couldn’t focus on her. My chest heaving, gasping, I flailed out and up, desperately trying to get away from the black and white images that were still flickering behind my eyes.

I gasped, panting and nearly-breathless as I began to see my surroundings clearly again. My hands flapped aimlessly for a moment, one hand coming up to rest across my stomach as another braced my body against the table. I tried to lift myself up, raising my head but unable to make it any farther. A voice broke into my breaths, distracting me from the rising panic. “I told you he’d be fine.” The voice was slightly exasperated, and my anger flared as I turned to stare at the man.

“You bastard!” I cried out, spitting the insult at him in rage that distracted me from the pain and panic.  The anger lent strength to my body, and I managed to force myself higher up onto the table before the odd incline halted my progress.

“Now, now, Mr. Miles, I just saved your life.” His voice was calm, soft, and slightly reprimanding; basically, the opposite of how I felt just then.

My anger just grew as I slung myself into a sitting position, struggling to bring my body level to this man’s and lessening my defenselessness. The utterly blatant lie had me shouting out before I could censor myself. “Saved my _life?”_ My voice was a mix of incredulous and furious as I spat the lie back at the man. “You kidnapped me, strapped me into the –” I broke off in apparent anger rather than actually saying the word I shouldn’t yet know, struggling for the ability to not give away the fact that I knew far more than I should, ending up gesturing angrily at the rigid surface below me, “This thing!” I was angry, more than I had ever been so before, in pain, off balance, disoriented, and confused. I was frantically trying to gather my bearings, to remember my role and what I shouldn’t know –

“Animus.” The harsh words broke into my rising panic, drawing my attention to the white coat that was no longer pretending to be nice, or even a little sympathetic. _Maybe he was insulted by my calling it a ‘thing’? Shaun got really tetchy about that too._ “It’s an Animus.”

Well, there was now one piece of information I could claimed to have learned. Who put me into the Animus and who these two were, however, was still supposed to be unknown to me. “I don’t even know you people!” My voice clearly called out my confusion and my anger, and I turned so I could direct my words at both of the other people in the room. The doctor was walking towards the foot of the bed, closer to Lucy, so I turned to face them both at the same time, not waiting for an answer, “Why are you doing this to me?!” Why were Lucy and Vidic doing this to me? An actual person should never go through anything like this!

The doctor was not impressed, and was clearly avoiding be riled by my words. “You have information we need, Mr. Miles.” His voice was so cold that it took me a minute to recognize ‘my’ name, and that he was now displaying information he should have no idea of in order to get something out of me.

All he got was indignation. “Information? I’m a bartender, for Christ’s sake.” Incredulity filled my voice as I thought about how weird it was they wanted an answer from _me,_ when I had only been in this world for less than a day. “What do you want me to do, teach you how to mix a martini?!” I hope they didn’t actually take me up on that offer; although I’d prepared said drink the night before, I didn’t think I would be able to recreate that feat on demand. I was acting out my role well enough, my own responses somehow filtering through and becoming what Desmond would have actually said, but I doubted that my actions would come through with such precision on queue.

The doc began moving back towards me, speaking lowly and with conviction. “We know who you are; _what_ you are.” Terror filled me at the sound of his voice, at the knowledge he promised to already hold. My hands clenched against the edge of the table, ready to provide leverage if I needed to spring forward, my body ready to attack or to run.

I hesitated for a moment to long before responding, frantically trying to dissuade him while not appearing to be hiding anything. “I – I’m just a bartender.” I shook my head in negation, trying to deny his words. I turned my head sideways, pretending not to listen to him and trying to avoid showing him any hint of a lie.

He stopped directly in front of me, staring with his cold gaze boring into my peripheral vision. “Don’t play coy with me,” his voice hissed, “there isn’t time. You’re an Assassin, and whether you realize it or not, you’ve got something my employers want, locked away in that head of yours” He emphasized his words by swirling his hand around my head, and I was filled with an urge to bite the outstretched appendage. He turned and began walking away, satisfied with his display.

I ended up calling out after him; unable to deny the instinctual response “I’m not an Assassin.” No one in their right mind would call me an assassin. I was Desmond now and not myself, but he wasn’t one either, “Not anymore.” I turned away again, trying to hide my responses and shame at calling out. I braced my hands on my legs, knuckles turning white as I fought to keep my composure.

“Yes, your file indicated as much.” My head jerked upwards slightly, fear of what that file might contain startling my body into motion. He continued on, saying “Something about…an escape. Most fortunate for us,” His voice was soft, pleased with himself and the situation.

I was not so pleased, and I was already getting sick of the doctor. I considered facing him as I spat out my next words, but ended up staring straight ahead into the empty conference room. “What do you want from me?”

His response was sharp and ended up drawing my gaze towards him despite my intentions otherwise. “For you to do as you’re told,” he bit out as he paced back around the table, moving so that he was back within my line of vision. I turned my head slightly to face him more clearly, trying to gauge his intentions based on his body language and facial expressions. …Who was I kidding; I couldn’t read those cues when faced with an average person during casual conversation, much less when facing a Templar during an interrogation. “The Animus will allow us to locate what we need. Once we have it, you’ll be free to go.” His words were dismissive, and a clear lie.

“I am not going back in there,” I stated, gesturing angrily at the device I was still sitting upon. I considered standing up to make my point clear, but I wasn’t willing to escalate the situation when it already had a forgone conclusion. As much as I might wish otherwise, there was no doubt that this conversation would end with me back within the Animus. I grit my teeth in anger and restraint, biting back the words _you liar!_

“Then, we’ll induce a coma, and continue our work.” The doctor’s voice was casual but slightly mocking, strolling around until he was once more standing by the head of the Animus, easily looking out into the room before focusing back in on me. “When we’re done, you’ll be left to die.” I tilted my face downwards to hide the frown and growing trepidation, trying not to think of how I’d just been threatened with an enforced coma and death. “Truth be told, the only reason you’re still conscious is because this approach saves time.” _He really doesn’t care._

I was forced to face the facts that Desmond had once confronted head on. My voice was incredulous as I voiced the realization, shaking my head slightly in an attempt to negate the facts. “You’re insane.” No question, no exclamation, just a statement of fact that I really, really wish wasn’t the case.

He didn’t even respond; in fact, his next words seemed satisfied as he spoke. “So, what is it Mr. Miles?” His attempt at using my name made my mouth quirk up infinitesimally despite the situation; he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was. “Live, or die.” His voice carried little inflection, stating just how much he actually cared about the end result. He had no reason to – my death was intended whether or not I was conscious as I completed this task. I raised my head and stared straight forward, looking past him as if to ignore his choice. “Lie down,” he commanded, voice firm.

I didn’t move, not wanting to give in just yet. I knew I had no choice, knew that I needed to live to December, and I knew that I had to be conscious through these memories if I wanted to make it through these next few weeks even slightly sane. That still didn’t encourage me to make this any easier for the insane madman who hadn’t even told me his name. A flash of ridiculous indignation filled me as I realized that neither of the two had given me their names. Of course, I already knew them both, but surely even prisoners had the right to know their warden’s names, right _Warren?_

“Lie down, Desmond.” Lucy’s soft voice made me jerk around, having almost completely forgotten her silent presence. She hadn’t spoken once since those first few words when I broke out of the Animus, and I couldn’t have even told you what they were. I instantly noticed the contrast between her and Vidic: she had used my first name, while he had used my last; her voice was soft and rich with emotion, while his was cold and vile; she was gentle and persuasive, while he was forceful and demanding. _Good cop, bad cop from the very beginning, huh?_ “Lay back. We’ll take care of the rest.” Despite myself and my knowledge, I did feel slightly reassured, and I didn’t know whether to feel grateful or resentful to Lucy for that fact.

I waited for just a moment longer before slowly lying down, every inch of my body protesting and screaming against the action. I was exposing myself, showing my stomach to the predator standing right beside me. My neck was bared and I couldn’t reach up to protect it, so I forced my body into still rigidity. The harsh metal plates bit into my back, and a soft whirring started next to my ear. I jerked slightly to get away from the noise, forcing myself to relax back against the headrest as I realized it was just the visor-headband-headset-thing. A quiet humming noise persisted even after the visor was fully stretched across my face, both annoying and comforting at once.

“A wise decision,” the smug voice coming from my right proclaimed. I narrowed my eyes slightly and fought the urge to turn towards the speaker, instead staring straight up into the metal ceiling. The screen powered on, a blue glow lighting from the bottom of the frame and the Abstergo symbol appearing in the center. The little cursor popped up on the screen right above the word ‘LOADING’, right where I was focused. I blinked in surprise, and then focused on the center of the triangle. The little compass icon – wasn’t that the assassin symbol? – followed my gaze, moving to wherever my eyes were focused with virtually no lag.  “Whoa,” I couldn’t help but mutter, even as a molecular structure flashed across the screen and wiped away the symbols. The cursor icon remained even as the familiar interface appeared, a long string of DNA spirals stretching across the visor. “What is this?”

“You’re inside the Animus.” I was able to ignore the person behind the words, because this was actually rather interesting. My eyes skittered across the translucent screen, trying to take in everything at once. This was an Animus version 1.28, not a single memory was unlocked… and it looked exactly like it had in the games, only way more… intense.

I managed to push aside my anger to focus on what was going on, and instead brought my curiosity out into play. It was actually easier than it sounded, because I wasn’t normally very angry by nature, but I was always fascinated by the Animus and its simultaneously incredible and frightening capabilities. “Which is…?” I trailed off leadingly, honest curiosity in my voice as I prompted the doctor to speak.

“It’s a projector that renders genetic memories in three dimensions.” I turned to face him as he spoke, and got a nice, up-close look at his perpetually angry face. I thought it was bad enough on a computer screen; in real life, it was actually incredibly intimidating to see that face floating just a few feet above your head while you were bound to a table, unable to defend yourself. I scolded myself for getting distracted and letting myself be intimidated, running his last sentence through my head again.

“Genetic memory,” I murmured, wondering what it would be like to actually experience that for myself. I would be finding out in just a few minutes, but the doctor was already geared up and heading into his introductory spiel. I wondered if he still would have continued if I had showed signs of complete understanding, and decided that he probably would have.

“It seems you’ll need a bit of a tutorial.” He heaved a sigh, but I didn’t think he was actually as irritated as he looked. This project was his baby, and who wouldn’t want to show off their work and just what their personal brilliance could create? Not to mention, he was a villain, and as a general rule, those types of people liked to monologue and proclaim their brilliance. The Animus was the pinnacle of his life’s work – he probably proclaimed his and his baby’s ‘awesomeness’ at any chance he got. _Wait, no, that’s Rebecca’s term for the Animus, not his._

The DNA strand faded and an incomplete circle replaced it in the center of the screen. I kept my gaze focused on him as a brain appeared in the center of the screen, words surrounding the image in font too small for me to read. “We’ll start simple. What is a memory, Mr. Miles?” He lifted his head back up from where he was focusing on the Animus itself, peering down at me. I wanted to back away, get away from the face hovering just over me, but I couldn’t do more than shift my gaze to the brain and try to read the miniscule letters.

_Hey, I can actually read what they say…mostly! While we are learning a lot very quickly about how … emerge from the simple genetic code … full understanding of how individual genes … influence human behavior. What? It’s repeating over and over again… Wait, there’s a second phrase. Human behavior and human consciousness are extraordinarily complex phenomena that can’t be fully explained on the basics of simple genetics._

I was already getting used to being addressed with Desmond’s name. I figured it was alright if I was a little slow to respond, as ‘I’ would have been going around using a fake name for well over half a decade. I considered trying to figure out what exactly Desmond had said, let it come naturally as it all had so far, but I wanted to actually give my own responses. “Memories… memories are recollections of past events, patterns stored in our brains so that we can remember what’s happened in our personal history.” Well, I never claimed that I would say it any better than Desmond had, just differently.

The doctor looked slightly exasperated as he pulled back and the image onscreen switched, showing a female body as he elaborated upon my description, pulling it into the direction he wanted to take it. “The memories are specific to the individual remembering the event.”

I blinked, knowing where he was going with this, but still distracted by the apparent obviousness of the statement. “Yeah, of course,” I agreed with him. That was how normal memories worked, after all.

He began pacing slightly besides me, keeping my attention firmly locked on his moving form. “What if I told you that the human body not only housed an individual’s memory, but the memories of his ancestor as well?” He paused, letting that sink in. “Genetic memory, if you will.” A bird replaced the human on the screen and his voice became animated, speaking more quickly than he had at any point before this, listing off different examples: “Migration, hibernation, reproduction; how do animals know when and where to go, what to do?” His voice took an upward lilt at the end, and I ended up answering the apparently _not_ rhetorical question.

I tried to shrug, but found that I couldn’t. “They just follow their instincts, I suppose.” _Wait, is that picture actually cited properly? That’s just plain weird. How long did he spend on this ‘tutorial’?_

The doctor looked irritated, shaking his head and his voice returning to normal as he responded. “Now you’re just arguing semantics, Mr. Miles.” Oops. I guess it was a rhetorical question after all. “Whatever you call it, the fact remains. These creatures hold knowledge absent the requisite first-hand experience!” I blinked, considering the fact that he actually had a point. He walked outside my line of vision towards the bottom of the table, so I turned my gaze towards Lucy. I looked her in the eyes for a brief second before she looked back down at whatever she was working with as Warren kept talking.

“I’ve spent the past 30 years trying to understand _why_.” I tried to see what Lucy was working on, and ended up getting a good look at her nametag. Lucy Stillman, the bold letters proclaimed. While my eyes were down at her chest, I ended up getting a good look before realizing what I was doing and focusing back up onto the ceiling and the dedicated doctor’s words, only to realize he was once again standing beside me.

He was speaking impassioned words, clearly trying to drive in his point and his brilliance. “I discovered something most fascinating. Our DNA functions as an archive.” The previous figure had been replaced with a tiny fragment of DNA, arranged in a straight line, but I couldn’t get a good look at it as the doctor continued talking. “It contains not only genetic instructions passed down from previous generations, but memories as well; the memories of our ancestors.” I watched as the outlined strands of DNA filled, blue and white figures that were much easier to look at then the permanently angry face talking beside me. I was surprised when tiny scenes appeared in faded bubbles, appearing and fading to quickly for me to truly understand what I was seeing, but they had seemed to be pieces of Altaïr’s life.

He was silent for a moment, so I spoke up to move along the explanation. “So, this Animus… it lets you understand and see these memories compiled within our DNA?” Alright, so I wasn’t the best at quickly coming up with dialogue. Maybe I’d just leave the majority of talking while I’m in Abstergo to instinctual, Desmond-y responses. That wouldn’t always work, though – right now, Desmond had been running on instinct, but he began to start thinking everything through a few days in. _…Probably._

“Precisely,” he said and looked quite satisfied. The screen returned to the more familiar menu as the lecture concluded. I couldn’t pretend to be disappointed when he stopped talking; it was interesting, and seeing it for myself made everything more intense, but I already knew far more about the Animus than anyone here would ever be willing to tell me – Lucy included. _Or would it be I know more about Animi? Ah, pluralization…_

Lucy interrupted, once more startling me and grabbing my attention as she spoke, “But there’s a problem.” I knew what the problem was, but waited for her to tell me instead. “This is the specific memory we’re trying to access.” I followed the cursor as it scrolled to the right, selecting the only set of memories indicated by a shape rather than the DNA strands. The words <Memory Locked> floated above the highlighted form, clearly indicating that we couldn’t access it just yet.  “Unfortunately, when we try to open the memory, your mind withdraws.”

I bit back the response that of course I’d withdrawn, that memory had hurt! There had been a huge outpouring of both physical and mental pain, driving me away from recollecting further. Her phrasing made it sound like she’d tried more than once – was that why the random images had kept flashing? In the beginning at least, they had felt triggered; after the first few, running from the memories and the lingering pain had become automatic, and I had kept running even when the pain hadn’t been quite so bad.

“You lack the confidence to step into your ancestor’s body.” I gave this crazy lady an incredulous look. It had nothing to do with confidence; I just wanted to avoid the pain! “That’s what happened earlier,” she rushed to explain. “You got knocked out of the target memory and pushed back to a more stable state.”

I remained silent for a moment, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t tell her that I hadn’t been pushed back, I had run away. After several moments, I came up with a single-word question: “Why?” _Oh, how eloquent._

Lucy didn’t seem to mind the question’s apparent simplicity. “It’s your subconscious; it’s resisting.” _Yeah, and my conscious mind as well._ “We found similar reactions among patients who undergo hypnosis to relive traumatic events. They can’t jump directly into the specific memory; they need to be eased in. Even then, there could be problems.”

 Her voice was soft, convincing me into trusting her despite knowing just who she was; _what_ she was. _Great, now I sound like Vidic… or Warren… which was his last name again?_ “So, I guess we won’t be just jumping into the last memory again and hoping for the best?” I tried to smile, but I think it ended up coming out a little weak.

Lucy didn’t seem to notice, focused on setting everything up properly. “We’ll just find a memory you can synchronize with, and move forward from there. You’ll get used to it.” She waved her clipboard and the display focused back on the first string of DNA, bringing my eyes down to face the strand, her clipboard, her nametag, and just her chest area in general again. She walked away, taking her view with her. “I’m uploading the tutorial program now.”

The screen turned blue, the strands zooming forward and fading as the color dragged me under. White filled my vision, and I prepared myself for the change. _Here we go. Goodbye, reality. Hello, Animus blue loading screen and automated voice._

**Retrieving information**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is the second chapter of my Assassin’s Creed Self-Insert! Honestly, one of the reasons I actually went through with my ideas and wrote this was because I wanted to go through the games with the interface actually as it appears. In pretty much every Assassin’s Creed story I’ve seen, it doesn’t quite play out like you play it. Some do, I’m just trying to get as close to the game itself as it can in terms of mechanics. It will probably change slightly when (if) we get to AC2.
> 
> The other reason I wrote this… is because I honestly normally replace Desmond with myself when I play. It’s actually pretty easy – when we first meet him, he’s basically a blank slate, just waiting to be uploaded with memories and side-effects of the Bleeding. We don’t have an excessive amount of time to play him in AC1, or AC2 (which I actually played first, silly me. Hey, it was free, and I didn’t know about the wonders of AC yet.) At least I didn’t project myself onto Altair or Ezio…
> 
> So…. the dialogue remained mostly the same. It will probably do that a decent majority of the time for AC1. Once we reach the Assassins and are introduced to them, (see? I honestly do mix up pronouns, though that wasn’t even half bad. I try to write pronouns however they come naturally… which is normally incorrect.) I should be able to start changing up the dialogue.
> 
> How much detail should I go into? I am detail oriented, so I naturally want to write out every. little. thing., but I doubt you want to read all that. … …Of course, I didn’t expect anybody to actually like my story, so… *sighs*
> 
> I had planned on waiting a few days after writing this to post this… but… I don’t know…
> 
> Thank you for reading. Let me know if I messed up, missed something, something doesn’t make sense, or if you want to know anything specific. I am accepting ideas for titles.
> 
> Safety and Peace go with you.
> 
> Original upload: June 22, 2014  
> Last updated: June 25, 2014  
> Words w/o A/N: 5,403  
> Words with A/N: 5,877


	3. Hello, Subject 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Subject 17. This tutorial has been prepared to better acclimate you to the Animus’ control system. Instructions will follow shortly.  
> I doubt these instructions are going to be hold button A, press button B, so what will they be instead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the ones before. It’s the tutorial chapter. You could probably skip it and not have any problems, but why not read it anyways? I did things just slightly different than the games, in terms of activating each action.  
> Oh, did you notice the quote from Clay in the first chapter? I couldn’t get it out of my head and it begged to be put in, and, well, it works perfectly.

Light was moving back, forcing me through a tunnel into a land of blue. Red flashes skittered along the edges of my vision, and the sound of sparks filled the air. I winced and clutched at my head, trying to block out the sight and sound, but my body wasn’t responding properly. My fingers were completely numb, while my legs and arms felt as weak as a pair of limp noodles. I stood still, unsure of whether or not my limbs could support my weight should I try to walk. The fog flickered between red and blue, while flashes of the chemical compound flittered across the landscape.

_“Warning: Data Stream Unstable; attempting to restore synchronization.”_ The voice was mechanical, a hollow computer replica of the female voice. _Clay’s AI had spoken with more emotion even before the emotion modules were loaded…_ I looked around, trying to see if moving changed where the voice appeared to come from. It felt like the voice was being downloaded directly into my brain, bypassing my ears entirely. _Well, I suppose that_ is _technically what’s happening…_

The red haze finally seemed to stop, and the Animus’ AI spoke again. _“Hello, Subject 17.”_ I physically flinched at being relegated to a number, a statistic, a data point, something less than human. Morbid humor arose as I realized that calling me Subject 17 was technically more accurate than calling me Desmond; I may have been in Desmond’s body, but Subject 17 referred to the 17 th person going through the Animus.  Wait – had they created this tutorial solely for me? They specified Subject 17, but that could have been the only part that had been personalized… and yet…

_“This tutorial has been prepared to better acclimate you to the Animus’ control system. Instructions will follow shortly.”_ I blinked, surprised despite myself that I would actually be going through with the tutorial. They couldn’t exactly tell me to hit button A, click button B, could they? I realized that my limbs were finally feeling sturdy beneath me again, and took a few steps to see if I could.

As I began walking in the foggy surroundings, I held up a hand to see how much was different. I was already in my Altaïr skin, and the first thing I noticed was my missing finger. I couldn’t help but examine it in fascination; from the moment I had first realized Altaïr cut off his finger to be a Master Assassin, I had become utterly enthralled by that simple missing finger. I could finally see for myself, feel for myself the physical declaration of dedication to his cause. The base of the amputation was clean, and had healed over well. I flexed my hand, watching as the stub moved with the rest of my fingers, even though it didn’t extend to even the first knuckle.

I pulled my hand back to my side as the voice came back; hiding my actions like a small child caught doing something they shouldn’t. _Why should I be ashamed of my curiosity?_ A familiar piece of data appeared in the corner of my vision. _“The synchronization bar represents how in synch you are with your ancestor.”_ The synchronization bar seemed frozen at the top-left corner of my vision; even though I focused on the bar, it didn’t move until I physically turned my head. It stayed at the same point in my field of vision, immobile, unmoving, and undeniable as I observed my surroundings. More words appeared a good ways under it, basically saying the exact same thing the voice had said. _“If you ever fall completely out of synch, the Animus will restore you to your last synchronized position. You are currently dangerously close to desynchronization. Please follow all forthcoming instructions in order to restore system stability.”_

The voice fell silent for a moment, and I waited for it to reappear. How would they be doing this? How would they translate the button-mashing into mental commands? I felt nervousness begin to rise against the curiosity. How much harder would it be than playing on a computer? How many times would I ‘desynchronize’, or die? I shuddered slightly in the empty blue land, nothing else to be seen except for white flashes of random data. I hesitantly moved forward again, trying to get closer to the nearest graphic. It disappeared before I could reach it, and the computer’s voice interrupted any further attempts.

_“The animus utilizes a puppeteering concept to control the actions of your ancestor. Unloading subroutines to validate your body’s adaptations to the Animus; we will begin by exploring the default actions of each input.”_ I grimaced as the voice faded. What input were they expecting? Right hand, move! Left foot, walk! Head, turn right! …Yeah, that sounded pretty awkward.

The light level rose until the background disappeared into white, a weird little noise accompanying the action. When the light died back down, I was now standing in front of a pair of villagers, standing silently near each other. _“While standing still, focus on your sight to observe the environment.”_ I blinked, not really understanding. The supplementary commentary provided in words didn’t help explain anything either. **Intense Focus – Focus on your sight while standing still to get a closer look at your environment.**

Well… this was the precursor to Eagle Vision… maybe this was teaching me how to access it later? In the game, it would have shown me how to enter first-person view, but I was already seeing from behind my ancestor’s eyes… I narrowed my focus, my eyes squinting slightly as I concentrated. The world became just a bit clearer, just a bit sharper, and the words beside me changed. **Look Around – Look around and notice the people about you.** I slowly turned, maintaining my concentration as I rotated without moving from my position. Two more groups of large, faceless women appeared, one after the other. When I had finished turning around and was once again facing the first couple, I let my eyes relax and the world return to normal. _“Good,”_ the computer spoke, a mechanical hum sounding as one of the black lines in my Synchronization bar turned white.

My vision whited out again for another scene change, and I tried to narrow down just what the noise sounded like. If I was going to verbalize it, I would say that it sounded like a weird, “eh-eh.” Maybe it was a noise starting and then being cut off abruptly, only to repeat the same pattern? My focus was pulled back to my surroundings as they faded back into view. There was a river of people, a never-ending line of figures carrying vases. _“Use your empty hand, to walk through these jar carriers without causing them to drop what they are holding. Proceed to the marker to continue the synchronization process.”_ With a ringing noise, a blue pillar of light appeared behind the people. _And by pillar of light, I mean a transparent DNA strand extending upwards forever._ I snorted slightly, expecting the decoration to have been Vidic’s touch. Wanting to keep moving, I prepared to walk forward and then stopped. _Um, which hand is supposed to be my empty hand?_ I held up both hands, neither holding anything. I suppose you could call my left hand ‘full’, if only because it was equipped with a blade, but I didn’t think that was what the voice meant.

I focused on the accompanying words and picture, hoping it might clarify further. The picture showed Altaïr using his left hand to push aside a merchant. _Well, there goes that idea._ **Gentle Push – Focus on your empty hand while walking to gently push the civilians out of your way without making them drop while they are holding. REACH THE MARKER BY USING THE GENTLE PUSH.** I rolled my eyes as I moved forward. I hadn’t forgotten what to do yet, there was no need to shout at me. An idea occurred to me, and I spoke out loud. “Hey, uh, Miss Stillman? Lucy, right? Can you hear me?” I waited in silence for several moments, but there was no response. I sighed, and gave it up as a bad job anyways. They might be watching me, they might not, but apparently they weren’t responding.

I walked up to the stream of people, just watching as the faceless figures walked by. I took a step into an empty space before accidently bumping into someone, and there was a sudden crash. _Oops._ The digital person was forced into her neighbor before turning to ‘stare’ at me rather accusingly. _I am never discounting the creepiness of blank faces ever again._ The next moment, there was a tidal wave of crashes, noises cracking out and blasting into my ears. The sound of over 100 pots breaking in tandem was deafening, and I instinctively cowered away even as my vision whited out. _I guess that’s not the way to do it._

With a flurry of beeping noises, I was standing back where I had begun. I strode forth until I was standing just before the crowd. Hesitantly, I lifted my right hand slightly, and gently pushed aside the closest person. I walked forward, barely able to keep myself from flinching back as I expected to mess up again, but I found my hands automatically moving to push the other people aside. I stopped walking in surprise, and my hands continued to guide the flow of people around me with barely any input on my behalf. The faceless figures swarmed around me, moving slightly to avoid me rather than simply walking into my prone form.

Claustrophobia began to kick in, and I fought the instinctual urge to push free and race out of the crowd. I moved forward slowly, pushing them away as I walked rather than shoving them aside and running. Once I made it past the people, I turned back and shuddered. I had no problems with small spaces, but being crowded by mechanical people and being surrounded on all sides by faceless bodies was something else entirely!

Shaking off my uneasiness, I stepped into the circle of light. I felt mildly uncomfortable when the ladder of DNA spun _through my head,_ but it was ignorable easily enough. _“Well done,”_ the computer voice said. This time I was prepared for the white light, and closed my eyes as my surroundings changed. When I reopened them, I checked to be sure that my synch bar had gone up when the resonating whir noise had sounded again – it had.

_“The animus differentiates between two fundamental actions: low profile and high profile. Low profile actions are socially acceptable. High profile actions are more action-oriented. Change your resting stance or focus on acting quickly to act in high profile. Switch to acting in high profile to see how your Heads up Display changes the context of the puppeteering inputs.”_ This was another of those ‘just gotta feel it out’ things, wasn’t it?

I blinked and realized that, yes; there was a little graphic in the top-right corner of my vision that told me what actions I could execute. Right now it said vision, punch, gentle push, and blend. I shifted from my casual walking stance into a fighting stance, instinctively knowing exactly where to place my feet. I could almost feel the mental shift as I did so, and the HUD in the corner changed. Push had turned to shove, and blend had changed to jump. I relaxed back into my walking stance, and I finally realized what the tutorial had meant. When I was relaxed, forced or otherwise, that would allow me to execute low profile actions. When I was focused or concentrated, I shifted into high profile actions and an automatic battle stance. I focused, trying to change my profile level quickly. After flicking back and forth between the two modes several times, I was interrupted by the computer’s voice, saying _“Excellent.”_

Another synch bar filled and my vision whited out once again. I forcefully relaxed myself as the scene changed, ready to respond appropriately when necessary. This hadn’t been what I was expecting, but I hadn’t exactly been given long to prepare for this and come up with expectations for the game-Animus-turned-real-device to meet, so I was basically just accepting what was coming. _Roll with the punches and all that._ When my vision returned, there was a single man standing several meters away from me. _“We will continue your synchronization process by testing some high-profile actions. Grab and throw this individual onto the marker by using the empty hand button in high profile.”_ I narrowed my eyes and _focused_ on the man, seeing him come into clearer detail as I activated my pre-eagle-vision vision. The man had sashes filled with throwing knives crossing his chest, marking him as a thug.

I moved closer, ignoring the additional typed words that were just repeating what the computer had already said. When I was standing directly in front of the unmoving man, I switched to my fighting stance, better balancing my weight so that I had better leverage with which to throw him. Reaching out I grabbed his shirt, grunting as I lifted his weight and then thrust him away from me. He stumbled backwards for a good few steps before finally falling onto his behind, several feet away from me and firmly within the circle of light. _“Good,”_ spoke the computer, and I bit back a rush of satisfaction.

The computer was already speaking before the next scene had fully loaded. _“Moving while in high profile will allow you to sprint. Sprinting is useful to escape from soldiers, and to get closer to a fleeing target.”_ Well, duh. _“However, be careful not to bump into anyone, for you can lose your balance and tumble to the ground.”_ No running around like a headless chicken – got it. _“While sprinting, reach the marker before this man does.”_

The scene suddenly shifted and I could see another man, dressed in the Templar uniform. I narrowed my eyes and shifted into a fighting stance, ready to run the moment that I could. _I am_ not _going to lose to a faceless computer tutorial!_   The bell-like tone sounded and I was running before it even finished, veering slightly towards the man but heading straight for my target. I was prepared to trip him if necessary, but I found myself already in the circle before he could manage it. _Good._ I was a little annoyed that it was so close a race, but whatever. _“Well done.”_ I smirked at the other ‘man’ despite knowing that it meant nothing, even as he and the rest of the surroundings disappeared into white.

I found myself facing an unprotected back, and any satisfaction I felt drained away quicker than the computer could speak, only to be replaced by horror and dread. _“The Animus will also provide other important information. The social status icon will give you information on your social status.”_ The Abstergo triangle on the synch bar was replaced by a colored circle, and there was a picture illustrating what each color symbol and expanded triangle meant, but I couldn’t concentrate on that; I knew what came next.

_“The different states will be explained in context soon. This icon appears when a soldier is looking at you.”_ I relaxed as the man turned around to face me, shifting back into low profile. _Not yet then…_ When had I shifted into high-profile, anyways? There was a new picture under the words **Witness Indicator** , showing what meant what. I rolled my eyes at the standard yellow = caution, red = alert that it could be summed up into. _“The yellow color means the soldier is unaware or suspicious of whom you are.”_

I was startled as the screen change, and almost started panicking when all that happened was a tall building appeared in the background. _Oh, no, no, no! This_ is _when I make my first kill!_   I grit my teeth and held completely still as the computer continued. _“To illustrate the change in awareness level, you will stealth assassinate this soldier.”_ I closed my eyes and bowed my head at the words. **Focus to lock onto your target.** I wasn’t ready. This was just a piece of AI, a simple figurine of a person without a face, but it was a symbol of all the deaths I would soon be carrying out.

The computer paid no heed to my altered state, continuing on without care. _“First, lock onto your target. Then, prepare your hidden blade. With your blade at the ready, walk up to the soldier and assassinate him by using your armed hand. ”_ The computer finally stopped speaking, and I slowly looked up to lock eyes with the target’s figure. A small triangle appeared above his head as I looked, and my stomach gave a sickening lurch. _Target acquired,_ I thought grimly to myself. I held up my left hand, readying the hidden blade. _Weapon equipped._

I stood still for several more moments, blade at the ready and target locked in my sight, just waiting for some invisible signal. When none came, I swallowed drily and prepared myself. I couldn’t wait here forever; Lucy and Warren would wonder what was wrong. This was just a few lines of code, just a program, not real. _Not real_ I repeated to myself as I moved forward. Soon I was standing in front of the man, face to face, less than a foot away. He did nothing, standing there like a colored statue. _Not real; not human._ There was a sickening lurch as I suddenly lunged forward, and I almost vomited at the sound of my blade ripping through clothes and flesh. He gave a dying grunt as I pulled back, the electronic sound of success and synchronizing echoing in my ears as I turned my back and hurriedly walked away. The

I stood several feet away from the dead man, my ears ringing with the sound of my blade. I leaned over, feeling like I was about to throw up. I stared at the blade attached to my hand, for the first time feeling truly disgusted with the weapon. _It only gets worse from here._ I heard the body collapse to the ground, and another person approaching. I could picture him leaning over the dead man as the jangle of metal footsteps stopped, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn towards them. The live one began to speak, and I felt my stomach clench at the words. “So we’ve a murderer nearby.” He wasn’t talking about Altaïr, Ezio, or even Desmond – he was talking about me.

I was forced to turn back to face him by command of the computer, and I watched him kneel next to the dead _I killed him_ guard. He rose with a hand on his sword before finally drawing the blade. I closed my eyes as the computer began to speak, barely registering its words. _“The dead body has alerted the soldier and changed his awareness to informed, as represented by the red witness indicator.”_ The yellow circle was repeatedly flashing red as an insistent beeping began. _“Aggressive actions or socially unacceptable behavior undertaken at this time will likely provoke an armed response. Provoke this soldier.”_

I slowly walked towards the two men, knowing that merely being close enough to the alert guard’s without blending would send him chasing after me. I drew closer to the dead body, trying to ignore the beeping in my ear. There was no blood on the ground or staining his shirt. I finally relaxed slightly at the sight of his creepy blank face, somehow feeling better despite him still lying spread-eagle on the ground. “Assassin! Kill him” the other guard shouted, and I instinctively started to run away. _I’ve been through to many chases with Altaïr not to know what to do next._ I was frozen in place, the world freezing around me as the computer began to speak. _Beep. Beep. Beep._

_“Notice that the social status icon has changed to exposed.”_ Yes, that’s great; I see the pretty red triangle, now let me run! _“Use the ladder, and try to break his line of sight.” That’s what I’m trying to – whoa!_ I was suddenly running again, and I almost fell over in surprise. I ended up running the wrong way for a moment before making a beeline to the ladder. Unfortunately, said moment took me right to the guard and he struck out at me with his blade. I gave an instinctive cry as the blade bit into my skin, blood spraying from the cut even as my arm suddenly burst into pain.

When he pulled back I dashed forward, reaching the ladder before he had the chance to strike again. He screamed as I began climbing the rungs, “I’ll get you!” I ignored him and proceeded up the stairs, the pain in my arm fading slightly as I climbed. “I know this city inside and out,” the guard hollered up from below. I ignored him as I reached the edge of the roof, throwing myself onto the building and sighing with relief as I was no longer putting any pressure on my wounded arm.

_“Excellent!”_ The computer started speaking as the triangle turned yellow and started beeping, a slightly less annoying variation of the one I’d heard only a minute ago. _“The line of sight has been broken. Now, run into the roof garden to hide from the soldier.”_ As soon as I could move again, I walked to the wooden structure standing in the middle of the roof.  It was over twice as tall as I was, with a half-wall blocking the bottom of the ‘garden’ from detection. Strips of fabric hung from the roof, hiding away any hint of what was inside and supplying a nice piece of shade. I placed my uninjured arm on the half wall, giving myself a slight boost and rolling onto the wooden floor inside the barrier.

The yellow triangle turned blue, and the beeping slowed even farther; now the noise was almost bearable. _“Good. Your social status indicates that you are hidden, but the soldier is still looking for you.”_ My view suddenly shifted, and I was now peering at the garden where I was hiding and the soldier standing right outside it from an aerial view. My stomach lurched slightly at the disconnect, but I forced myself to keep still in the garden. _“Wait until your social status changes again.”_ I waited with baited breath as the beeping continued, already impatient for the blue triangle to turn green.

The guard stood in a corner of the rooftop, not even thinking to look inside the garden. He muttered, “This is pointless,” before rushing back towards the ladder and off the roof. I stared from my odd position in disbelief as he did so. _Really? That’s it?_

My view shifted back to normal, and I realized that I had been staring at my ‘injured’ arm. There was no blood staining my new, white robes, and the pain had entirely disappeared sometime while I had been watching in third person. _“Well done,”_ the computer repeated as another synch bar filled. _“The soldier has lost your track,”_ only because he is horrible at actually looking, _“and you are now anonymous, and you can exit the hide spot.”_

I tried to begin moving before the computer was finished speaking, but I was once more held immobile until it was done. When I could finally move again, I launched myself out of the hideaway, only to apparently get stuck perching on one of the low half-walls. _“Excellent,”_ the computer said, and my eyebrow started to twitch as I once again heard the empty praise and hum of synchronizing.

Several moments later, I was back to standing on the blue floor and the computer was proceeding onto the next step of the tutorial. _Only 3 bars left to fill._ I didn’t have to wait long; she was already speaking before I could see clearly. _“Being anonymous will fill your synchronization bar, and make your job as an Assassin easier.”_ Being an assassin is a job now? _“There are different places which you can use to hide. However, you must always break the line of sight first, and then use a hide spot to vanish.”_ Seemingly random things began to appear in the ‘air’ in front of me. First was a bench, already occupied with two people on wither end but with the middle seat empty; second was a haystack, loaded into a wooden cart; next a familiar rooftop garden appeared, towering above the other two; finally a group of people appeared, scholars all dressed in white robes quite similar to mine.

After a moment of just looking at the different hiding places, the screen changed. The friendly figures were replaced with guards, all standing at the ready with swords drawn. The white triangle turned into a flashing red circle as the most annoying beeping sound filled my ears. _“Let us continue with a demonstration of blend.”_ Ignore the beeping; just 3 more. _“Blend can be activated by the passive use of your legs.”_ I wasn’t even listening to the voice as I tried to activate blending, just wanting the beeping to _shut up_. I forced myself to relax and then lifted my hands as if in prayer. I wasn’t doing it quite right, but it was close enough that my body changed to actual blending with no more effort on my part. Head bowed over clasped hands, I began slowly stepping towards the guards. My walk was entirely different, and not just in speed. My steps were smaller, with less weight shifting from side to side as it had when walking normally.

_“You can mimic a scholar, and pass near soldiers without arousing suspicion.”_ Way ahead of you here, buddy. _“Use this to reach the marker behind the soldiers.”_ I began to walk confidently forward, but realized that the beeping had returned and I had accidently dropped out of blending. I quickly whipped back into position and the beeping faded; my heart racing as I realized just how close that was. _Oops._ I carefully stepped between the soldiers, being careful not to act too confident and break the blend. My heart was pounding silently in my chest from nerves, when I finally crossed into the glowing circle, and I breathed out a sigh of relief as the scene began to change.

_“Good. Now that you are fully synched,”_ wait, already? I thought I had more left to do! _“A new ability is available to you. Referred to as eagle vision, this sixth sense helped your ancestor to understand the intentions of people around him.”_ On my left was a quick summary of what different colors meant, and in front of me were 4 different people. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were – except for the Templar and the guard – so I focused on seeing them more clearly. The world warped and there was a small sound as my vision changed, the background becoming faded out as the people lit with different colors. White, yellow, red, and blue figures stood in a row; information, assassination target, enemy, and ally. _“Well done.”_ I stared for a moment longer as their colors pulsed, barely able to see the ground around us. _Not that it’s really much of a ground, just a more solid section of blue fog._ When I released my sight beyond sight, my normal vision returned, but the people remained tinted in their respective colors. The light bleeding out from inside them was already fading as I was blurred into another white scene change.

I was standing in an empty blue plain once more, nothing around or beside me, no new targets or things to be taught. I sighed in relief as the long and boring, if _slightly_ informative, session came to a close. _“Remember, Eagle Vision will only be available once you are fully synched.”_ I never understood that. I can enter eagle vision any time now, unless I’m Desmond again. I paused in thought, chasing a new idea. _Was that what they meant? Only once I, as Desmond, in the real world had synchronized enough with Altaïr even outside the Animus would I be able to use the eagle vision?_  

_“Please note that following the Assassin’s Creed, your ancestor’s way of life, will assist you in staying in synch.”_ I winced, knowing that I was about to hear the Templar computer blandly summarize the Assassin’s tenants, something no Templar should know. _Of course, that’s rarely the actual case, is it?_ How long had the Templars known the Creed? _“The Creed consists of three tenants. First, never hurt an innocent person. Second, always be discrete. Third, do not compromise the clan.”_ Did they just call the brotherhood a clan?! _“Should you lose synch, you can restore synchronization by reliving key moments of your ancestor’s life, or by respecting the creed.”_

**Animus – Tutorial Complete** _“You have successfully completed the tutorial.”_ Oh, thank the Lord, it was finally over! _“The most stable memory block will now be loaded.”_ Wait, what? Already? Can’t I get a lunch break or something? Please? I’m not ready for this!

My breathing began to speed up even as my vision faded, the blue being overtaken by white. Ready or not, I was about to enter Altaïr’s memories. _I’m not ready!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da; the boring chapter is done! Not much to say. I expected it to be shorter than it was; it actually reached almost 5,000 words without me going back to edit anything. The translation from buttons to thoughts and actions might be a bit awkward, but it wasn’t like they gave me a game controller to use while I was in the Animus! Normally I italicize my direct thoughts, but I didn’t always do that because I gave anyone speaking through the Animus italics as well. If Lucy and Warren start talking, they’ll appear in italics as well.  
> Ugh, should Lucy and Warren speak? I don’t think that would work very well… I think I might say that walking with the person under the influence of the Animus can’t be spoken to until we reach Rebecca and her Baby, and even then when I'm actively not in my ancestor’s memories – the glitches, the loading screen, and the main menu for example. Let me know what you think?  
> Oh, Thundercats reference!  
> So, yeah, that’s everything. Safety and peace go with you.
> 
> Original upload: June 22, 2014  
> Last updated: June 22, 2014  
> Words w/o A/N: 4,919  
> Words with A/N: 5,136


	4. There must be Another Way!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a wonderful welcome to the beginning of Altair's memories. A pointless death, a senseless slaughter, an emotional roller-coaster beyond my control... I think I'm going to be sick.  
> Well, at least I didn't fall to the ground while running up walls...yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I’ve written this as if I experience this from behind Altaïr’s eyes – I mean, why would his DNA record what the back of his head look like, even though that’s about all we stare it in the game – thus I’ve basically removed the glitches in the Animus when it switches to 1st person POV. They’ll pop back up when Altaïr is speaking with his assassinated targets, but that won’t be for a while. My character will probably comment on it sometime soon, but I just wanted to assure you that it wasn’t a mistake or something I overlooked. …Alright, so they probably fed the visuals through the animus and returned them in third person to lessen the bleeding effect… but…  
> Well, so much for making the Animus exactly like how it is in the game. Alright, so I had a reason for this difference… experiencing the Animus in 1st person enhances the synchronization. I threw in 3rd person as an additional option in the menu, which I have included. Lucy and Warren aren’t going to be as nice about letting me exit whenever, however.  
> This chapter is a bit longer; at least that makes up for the last chapter being a bit shorter.

There was the sound of a great noise, rushing towards me with a roar, filling my ears and overwriting my vision. It was a flood of feelings, emotions, _memories_ that slammed into me at full force, knocking me over and pulling me under, until I was completely surrounded and subsumed. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but hear and see and _feel –_

“Wait!” An accented voice broke through the pounding of the waves, the surface so far above I couldn’t reach nor see it. “There must be another way; this one need not die.” Irritation, impatience, and anger swirled around my struggling form, forcing the emotions into my heart. So, he disagreed with the idea of my eliminating the problem? Did Malik think we had any time to spare to search out another way when we had precious little time to retrieve Al Mualim’s treasure?

The darkness covering my eyes lifted, and I could see an old man standing still in a darkened passageway. Malik still hadn’t produced another option, time was running out, and we needed to act _now_. My hand darted forward and forced him to his knees, my blade leaping from its hiding place and sheathing itself within the man’s neck before the man had the chance to do more than raise his hands. I ripped out the blade, and a spurt of blood accompanied the metal. _I think I’m going to be sick._ I pulled back, easily avoiding the man’s lifeblood. I quickly lowered the body, now one less obstacle blocking my path. _No, no, no nononono –_

I parted the surface with a gasp, revulsion writhing within my stomach as a strong air of disbelief blew past. I treaded the top of the waves, Altaïr’s thoughts left buried in the deep but still surrounded by what he saw, heard, and _felt._ I looked down and saw my disfigured hand, clean except for a spot of blood at the wrist. The memories rose with a crashing wave, dragging me back under, and I just barely managed to keep struggling even though I was submerged. _I don’t want to see this; I don’t want to feel this!_

Again, a voice called out to me and pulled my attention from the depths, “An excellent kill!” I looked from the dead man’s body to see a younger man in similar grey garbs speaking, admiration coming close to worship in his eyes as he enthused. _So young and innocent… well, innocent-ish; he is still an Assassin._ “Fortune favors your blade!” _So naïve…Kadar..._

The praise was warranted – it had been one of my better kills. “Not fortune; skill. Watch a while longer – you might learn something.” _I don’t want to listen to this; I don’t want to see Altaïr like this. I don’t want to hear his casual arrogance, feel his dismissal of a person as a mere obstacle, see the worship of Kadar as fully warranted and expected._

Malik remained unimpressed by my actions; more the fool, he. “Indeed, he’ll teach you how to disregard everything the Master’s taught us.” He tried to displace Kadar’s attention, turning directly towards him and managing to gain his attention for several short moments.

My temper flared; was he insinuating that I was doing anything less than reasonable? “And how would _you_ have done it?” I asked, curiosity mixing with derision in my tone.

“I would not have drawn attention to us; I would not have taken the life of an innocent. What I would have done is follow the Creed.” I really should have expected his answer, knowing of his single-minded worship of the creed. Yet, this man was obviously working for whoever was guarding Al Mualim’s treasure; he was no innocent. _I bet he wouldn’t have been red in your eagle vision, if only you’d thought to check._ How, exactly, was killing him drawing attention, anyways? It had been a quick, clean, silent kill – no one would know until they finished their rounds, and that might not be for hours in this place.

Well, if he was going to quote the Creed at me, I’d just have to return the favor. “Nothing is true; everything is permitted. Understand these words – it matters not how we complete our tasks; only that it’s done.” _He actually believes this. Has he never been taught otherwise?_

Malik was already protesting, waving his arms about in clear negation of _my_ words. “This is not the way – “

“My way is better,” I interrupted. I cared not what he had to say; I knew I was right, had seen the proof that my way was indeed superior. _There’s something more under these thoughts… I can’t see it, and I don’t think I even want to; I know I’m right in thinking that._ There was no need for Malik to conclude such an erroneous thought.

Malik turned away in disgust, clearly giving up the argument and turning to speak with Kadar. Try and ignore me, would he? “I will scout ahead.” He turned back to face me with casual disregard, scorn clear in his actions. “Try not to dishonor us further.” _Oh, if you knew what he’s about to do, the things you’d say…_ He turned and walked away, Kadar turning as if to follow him before facing me once more, stepping closer.

“What is our mission?” The boy was excited, eager, and it showed clearly in the words he spoke. “My brother would say nothing to me, only that I should be honored to have been invited.” _This is no honor; this is leading the pigs to the slaughterhouse and retrieving their own demise. I wonder if Al Mualim chose these three for a specific reason – possibly the three most strong-willed of the Assassins. Was he hoping that exposure to the artifact would weaken any defense to it? Or was his only goal to ensure success, equipping Altaïr with someone unafraid to speak against his foolish actions and someone enamored enough to follow Altaïr to his grave, if need be?_

I bit back a snort; Malik had likely said something somewhat different. It was no secret, our disagreements in acting for the brotherhood. It was highly unlikely he would consider accompanying me on a mission something to be “honored” by. Perhaps the importance of the mission had made it through his stubborn skull at the time, even if he seemed to have forgotten how vital it was now. “The Master believes the Templars have found something beneath the temple mound. “

I almost rolled my eyes as Kadar leaned forward, excited and speaking in a hushed voice. “Treasure?!” was his hushed exclamation.

“I do not know. All that matters is the Master considers it important, else he would not have asked me to retrieve it.” Kadar backed away a step, bowing his head in acceptance. He, at least, understood the importance of my presence. _Oh Lord, please help Altaïr lose his arrogance quickly; I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. I_ like _Altaïr; I don’t like seeing him acting and speaking like this._

There was suddenly a flash of light as everything seemed to still, and the torrent of emotions and feelings almost entirely disappeared. I stood there motionlessly, blinking in confusion, shocked by the stark difference. Rather than struggling for words, barely able to make myself known or separate from the essence of Altaïr surrounding me, I was figuratively wading through the emotional mess. I could no longer hear Altaïr’s thoughts, returned to me when I had been drowning inside him. I could still feel the hint of his emotions, impatience and eagerness baying at my heels with a lingering amount of anger and resentment flowing through the stream of emotions.

I took a cautious step forward, only to feel my foot hit something soft. I froze and looked down, and bile rose in my throat at the sight of the dead man. The memory of my killing him was still fresh, the image of my hand buried in his neck as I forced him to his knees overwhelming my vision. Shakily, I crouched down beside the man, a morbid sense of horrified fascination forcing me to see what I had done.

His body was limply slumped across the rocks, but the pool of blood I had expected was nowhere in sight. Cautiously pressing closer, I could see that there was no blood on his neck. I slowly reached out, hesitating several inches from his flesh, my hand a pale apparition hanging in the still air. With the same hand that had murdered him, I turned and lifted his head, the dead weight heavy against my palm as I looked for the stab wound. It wasn’t there, but the lifeless head suddenly seemed to gain 30 pounds in my hand. I gently lowered the head to the ground, clutching my guilty hand to my chest and backing up a single step, before abruptly turning around and dry heaving.

Bile burned in my throat and I saw a Synch bar turn black. I leaned against the cave wall, gagging while Kadar stared with unseeing eyes. Seeing this simulation of the long dead boy just made the sickening feeling even worse, and my body protested against its hollow stomach once more. I fell to my knees, desperately trying to pull myself together and holding my blood-stained-yet-clean hand to my chest. I hugged my hand close, as if by protecting the digit I could stop it from ever being forced to commit such acts. _This isn’t real. The man is dead, has been dead for centuries. This is just a computer construction; no blood has been spilled._

It wasn’t working. Bolting to my feet, I ran away from the body, away from the waiting Malik, away from Kadar’s death. I dashed for the tunnel entrance, fruitlessly trying to escape even as I came across a transparent blue wall. **Error – Memory Sector Unavailable.** I tried to scream, but the sound froze within my throat. “Dammit, let me out!” I startled at the sound of my voice, unexpected and entirely unfamiliar when speaking with my own words. This was the same voice that had just casually dismissed killing a man, complete with the same accent and intonation – the only thing that belonged to me were the words, and even those felt corrupted by the emotions swirling at my feet.

_Can’t the world just shut up and_ stop _for a minute, please?_ Closing my eyes and praying to God that this worked, I whispered the word, “Menu.” I nearly cried with relief as my vision was overlaid with the main menu, familiar words comforting in their sameness. I looked across the menu, trying to see if any were missing or different. There were six options, 3 rows of two columns with a bunch of little details above them. **Memory log, Additional memories, Options, Resume Session, Map, Exit Animus.** Instantly I focused on Exit Animus, trying to select the option but failing as the menu refused to even consider the option. The words were a darker color, unlike the rest of the white words. They remained unchanged, a mocking symbol of how little control I had. _Bastards!_

_Wait – is options an option? It looks like the rest –_ I instantly refocused, selecting **Options** and blowing out a rush of air as a sigh of relief when a new menu appeared. **Graphic, Audio, Gameplay, HUD Elements, Camera, Customize Controls.** _Alright, let’s see if I can’t turn off the blood… which was that under, again?_ I selected Graphic, and then audio, backing out of both almost instantly when I didn’t see the options I was looking for. I was fairly surprised that both showed up, but figured that it probably meant something slightly different here _. Do I still get background music?_

HUD Elements flashed by almost as quickly, and I left everything on and showing – the synch bar, the GPS, etc. I almost instantly disregarded the Camera option as well, but noticed a selected option for first-person viewing. _I’m 98% sure that wasn’t there in the Xbox game menu…_ Gameplay options finally delivered what I was hoping for, and I instantly turned off the blood before looking at anything else. The rest seemed to be extraneous details about crowd density and such, and whether or not I wanted to have to keep focused on something to remain focused. _I think I won’t even try touching these until much later, if ever at all._

When I backed into the main menu, I realized that I had almost forgotten about the dead man in favor of the technology’s options. Once more feeling sick to my stomach at myself, _how could I forget it so easily,_ I selected the memory log and tried to ignore the entire problem and the rest of the world for just a few moments longer. _I don’t want to think – not yet, and maybe not ever._ I opened the **memory log** to see 4 empty strands of DNA flattened out, and words filled a panel below them.

**Memory: Acquisition. Memory Open – Al Mualim has sent me into the ruins beneath Solomon’s Temple. He seeks the artifact held here by the Templars. But why me? Errands such as this are the providence of novices. Worse yet, he’s asked I babysit Malik and Kadar. They’d best not get in my way.**

I winced at the summation of Altaïr’s thoughts and feelings pressing into my head and becoming far more than words across a screen. I could feel the confusion behind the words, and the annoyance – as well as the resentful resignation as Altaïr acknowledged the order. There was no mention of the man he’d just killed, nor any feeling possibly representative of it. Maybe this was recorded from just before the memory started? _I mean, I know Altaïr doesn’t care, and that killing the innocent man probably didn’t even count as a minor footnote in his day, but surely he would have mentioned his argument with Malik?_

I selected **back** and resigned myself to leaving the menu and returning to the present in the past as Altaïr, but I further procrastinated for several more minutes by checking the map. I reassured myself of the branchless path, noting that though Solomon’s Temple had an approximate population of 246, _not approximately 245?,_ there were less than 10 people that we would actually come across – and that was counting Robert’s entourage. **Status: Retrieve the Artifact from within Solomon’s Temple.** _I get it; I’m going, even if I don’t want to… I really, really don’t want to. I could probably just wait in this menu for hours, ignoring the world until I’m forcefully dragged back in by the two outside the Animus…_

**Back – Resume Current Memory;** I closed my eyes as the menu disappeared, waiting just one more moment before confronting my new reality. There was no more ways I could procrastinate, no more places to run away. _Pretend you’re Altaïr, stuck up prig who can just shove blindly forward, but fully believing in your actions and your cause._ My lips twitched into a light smirk without my input, and I turned back around to face the cave.

I had to move forward; if I continued delaying for no reason, Lucy and Warren might get suspicious. _Or, really more suspicious, because breaking down over broken computer bits is so normal… no matter how much it resembles a person or how awful it feels to have ended even an artificial life._ I slowly walked back through the tunnel, carefully stepping over the dead body, unable to help but look down once more on the broken man. _Don’t think about that yet – worry about Malik and Kadar now. You can have your breakdown and panic attack tonight, preferably where they can’t see you._

I stopped in front of the young assassin for a moment, but the figure did nothing. I waved my hand in front of his face, but again received no reaction. Mildly creeped out and disheartened, I turned away and began heading towards Malik again. _Man, Abstergo’s Animus sucks._ I felt a slight pang of disappointment that I couldn’t interact with Kadar before his de- before we reached the ark, but pushed it aside and focused on walking.

The floor gave way to a large pit, the gap crossed by several wooden bars. I had noted Malik jumping away across them earlier, but hadn’t actually fully realized the fact that I would have to jump across these bars myself, with no help from a machine. _Well, I guess the Animus counts as a machine, but I was thinking more the computer or Xbox._ I braced myself, hesitantly starting to move and landing on the first beam, pushing off instantly to land on the next one before I even realized that I’d made it across one safely. I used my momentum to fly across the tunnel, barely pausing when I reached a small portion of land and shooting across the next gap as well. Malik was racing just ahead of me, having waited at the small interval between the two gaps.

I turned back, pleased that Altaïr’s muscle memory had helped with such a _relatively simple, such a complete cakewalk compared to what will come later,_ feat. Kadar was soon jumping across as well, skipping the last beam entirely and landing in a crouch. _Man, someone really is excited to be here, huh?_ The eager boy stepped next to me, sandwiching me between him and his brother.

I tried to take a closer look at Malik, but he made no motion to move on his own other than turning empty eyes to look at me. His clothes were almost identical to mine – all he was missing was a blade at his side. I put a hand to the hilt of my sword as I took in the rest of his figure, noting the lack of a missing finger. All he had was a short sword, his fists, and some daggers. How had he managed to survive the upcoming fight? _Wait, I can see his hidden blade, so why does he still have his finger? Oh - right. The Animus only showed Altair missing a finger. Malik is missing a finger on his left hand – such a small handicap compared to the mutilation that follows._

Wincing, I turned away from Malik and to the ladder. I climbed the wooden rungs slowly, not wanting to misstep in this unfamiliar body. _Really, it was only a miracle and Altaïr’s sense of balance that kept me from plummeting to the ground below in those pits; I still haven’t figured out my new center of balance properly._ I effortlessly pulled myself over the top of the ledge, marveling at the easy strength my body now held. I was distracted as my gaze was turned on a single guard, armored and standing in an archway. I narrowed my eyes and _focused_ my mind, my vision narrowing slightly and the rest of the world fading away as I locked the guard in my sights. I could feel Altaïr’s impatience weighing with mine, his anger at Malik driving him with the need to strike out.

I could almost see myself lunging angrily at the guard and shouting in frustration, but I managed to hold myself back. Instead, I slowly crept closer to the other guard, not making a sound as my feet slid across the ground. When I was directly behind him, I noticed a new option in the HUD on the upper-right corner of my vision: assassinate. I closed my eyes briefly before reopening them, desperately wanting not to see but instead paying homage to the life that was lost so many centuries before. This would be entirely my choice this time – not Altair’s. I could foist no other deaths entirely onto Altair. _There won’t be blood; it won’t be real._

With a split second decision I suddenly leapt forward, wrapping a hand around the guard’s mouth and pulling him back onto my newly released blade before he could speak. He made a muffled grunt as he flailed wildly for a single moment, falling abruptly still as I released him, stumbling forward a step as Malik and Kadar walked past. Neither assassin turned to look as the man staggered back and fell onto the floor in a heap. I could feel my feet carrying me with the two assassins, and I only had a moment’s thought to spare for the guard and the guilt rising in my stomach before my attention refocused onto the two Assassins beside me as Malik cried out.

“There!” came his hushed call as Malik pointed, and I moved forward so that I could see what he was pointing at. I stood directly behind Kadar and Malik, soaking in one last feel of their presence before everything went to hell in a hand basket and they were taken away. “That must be the ark.” His voice sounded slightly awed, and I was surprised at the tone. I felt irritation flicker in my veins, an emotion not my own, but Altaïr’s.  I winced, expecting to be dragged back under as before, but nothing more happened. _Was that a one-time thing, then?_

The object he was pointing at was on the opposite side of the rather large room from us, but my advanced vision apparently allowed me to zoom in on command. The treasure looked like a golden chest, with an odd egg-shaped statue resting on it. _It’s that cursed apple, the stupid treasure that Al Mualim went crazy for._ My hands clenched by my side as my gaze narrowed even further in anger, before I forcefully released some of the emotion and instead focused once more on the present.

I allowed my gaze to draw back, and I tried to find a way to reach the ‘treasure’ _without_ drawing attention from any who might enter the room below. _Let’s see if there actually was a better way than the head-on confrontation Altaïr instigated._ The room was made of solid stone, few chinks or gaps in the walls and boards only attached at sporadic intervals. Columns rose into the air and lifted the floor where the ark rested, but no purchase could be found on the round stones. Any scaffolding was located on the other side of the room, past the entrance and the table where the Templars would convene. All in all, the room was open, expansive, impressive, and would be incredibly difficult to sneak through.

Of course, my attention was drawn from the room and back to my companions when one spoke “The…ark? Of the covenant?” he breathed out. Kadar was as equally excited as his brother, and it was easily heard through his words and tone.

The ridiculous amount of fascination he was giving the artifact was highly annoying; the thing didn’t deserve it. “Don’t be silly,” I bit out. “There’s no such thing, it’s just a story.” _Wait, no, that’s wrong. That’s no story, and I shouldn’t be jealous over an inanimate object. I mean, the attention earlier was nice, but I’m not craving attention that badly… really._

“Then what is it?” Kadar interrupted before I had any time to think, almost cutting off my words. He did, however, turn his attention back towards me, so I was momentarily appeased.

Of course, the almost-return of my good mood was ruined by Malik’s hushed hiss. “Quiet! Someone’s coming.” I focused on the doorway; the people entering the large room quickly becoming clear in my sight. I felt my teeth clench as I recognized the lead person striding into the room, and my _not my_ anger flared up so sharply, so brightly that it was hard to see clearly, much less think. _Calm down! I’m not Altaïr, Robert hasn’t done anything to me personally, and I_ don’t _need to start a fight._

My breathing remained steady despite my inner turmoil, thought I felt my blood begin to rage as the cretin began to speak. “I want this through the gates before sunrise!” His voice was accented differently than the Assassin’s had been, but I couldn’t identify it. _Who am I kidding – I can’t recognize_ any _accents, at all, whatsoever._ The ‘this’ referred to was clearly the ark as he looked up, motioning at the golden artifact. “The sooner we possess it, the sooner we can turn our attention to the jackals at Masyaf.” The bastard stopped by a table near the doorway, and my anger at him reached new heights. _Oh, he did_ not _just insult the Assassin’s like that._

I knew that he was a threat, but to hear him so boldly proclaim to be seeking harm against my home was infuriating. _Not my home, Masyaf; I must remember._ The insult burned in my blood as I turned to my fellow assassins, no doubt equally enraged. “Robert de Sable,” I called, claiming the kill before either of them could even entertain the thought. “His life is mine.” My tone brooked no argument; Malik would not steal this from me.

So, of course, he disagreed. “No,” he responded as he turned away from the scene, the single word only inflaming the burning beneath my skin. “We were asked to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary.” He sounded so firm, arrogant in his belief that the words were law, and not open to interpretation and fluid depending on the situation. He spoke as if the words were so easily interpreted, only one translation from the Creed to action, as if following the words magically granted a perfect path that led to flawless victory.

“He stands between us and it – I’d say it’s necessary.” There was no easy path to the treasure – the quickest, most direct path was through the wretched man. Any attempt to circumvent him would likely be met with discovery; the beginning of a battle on their terms and not ours.

Malik, again, refused to see. “Discretion, Altaïr!” Every inch of him was negating my words, my actions, my decision, and me.

“You mean cowardice,” I responded in kind, as equally angry with him as he was with me. “That man is our greatest enemy, and here we have a chance to be rid of him.” _He has a point – this is probably the least defended Robert ever is, and we have the benefit of surprise…_

The returning volley was neither unexpected nor welcome. “You have already broken two tenants of our creed; now you would break the third. Do not compromise the brotherhood!” Malik was unbending, unable to see past his blind devotion to the Creed.

Can he not see that to let Robert live when there is another option only invites compromise to the brotherhood? _You’re both idiots – how about an actual compromise? Altaïr discretely kills him without drawing attention, and then you pick off the rest of the guards while they are confused, leaving Kadar free to retrieve the Apple. Surely there must be some weak point on the man’s armor for a throwing knife to enter, and then, ta-daa! All problems are solved. I thought assassins were supposed to be smarter and more secretive than this. I mean, it would screw up the rest of the game, but…_

I controlled my anger – mostly. “I am your superior, in both title and ability.” _Ooh, harsh and somewhat uncalled for. Altaïr is definitely_ not _the epitome of tact._ “You should know better than to question me.” There was a flash of white light as the discussion ended, and I felt a mental relaxing as the mostly foreign anger drained away. The emotional flood had risen sometime when the scene had started, but I hadn’t noticed it until it faded away. _This… is somewhat disturbing._

I walked to the edge of the ledge, and tried to pull out a throwing knife to implement my simple plan. This action was an utter failure; not only did it take me several long moments to simply find the throwing knife I wanted, I couldn’t figure out how I would hold it if I could actually pull it out! My hand refused to actually pull the knife I had chosen out of its sheathe, instead just awkwardly grasping the handle and staying still. I mentally threw up my hands in frustration, and then yanked down the tip of my hood in agitation.

The shadow falling further over my eyes and the feel of fabric beneath my fingers calmed me, slightly. Breathing out slowly, I reached out for Kadar one last time. He turned to face me, but showed no more reaction as my hand stopped inches away from his robes above his chest. _Aw, man, this has to be as suspicious as hell._ I repeated the action with Malik’s left arm, reaching out to touch it and not really receiving any response. Neither one shoved me away, nor were they at all moved by my actions. I bent my head in a silent prayer, for a moment appearing as if I was trying to blend with the scholars, and then I was turning away and heading towards the ladder.

Slinging myself onto the wooden struts, I let the railings slide lightly in my grip and I landed silently on the floor, far quicker than I would have if I had actually climbed down. There was the barest twinge of pain in my knees from the action, but I was impatient by nature – and Altaïr’s own impatience and lingering sense of urgency wasn’t doing me any favors, either. I tried to climb onto the wood beside me and scale the wall to the treasure, but my fingers refused to curl and my feet refused to leave the earth. Angry at my inability, I avoided the next ladder entirely and simply jumped to the ground. _Okay, I really felt it that time. Ow. I didn’t lose a synch bar, though… so imagine how much a 4-story fall is going to hurt. Oh, the pain is going to be just_ great _._

I felt my control over the situation lapse once more with a gentle pulse of light, and the emotions swirling around once again rose up. _Please tell me they won’t do this for_ every _‘cut scene’ I have to live through._ I silently acknowledged my relief that I was not going to be the one carrying out these damning actions – only passively following along.

 “Hold, Templars!” I called out, and each of the five men turned towards me. _You bloody_ idiot _! Stupid NOVICE, don’t draw attention, especially not on purpose!_ “You are not the only ones with business here.” Fine, Malik, I’ll take their attention as well as his life so you and your brother can concentrate on getting the treasure. _…he actually had a reason for that?!_

As I stepped forward to the Templars, Malik landed quietly beside me. Although I was irritated by him and his presence, I did feel mildly reassured that I had a brother to back me up. I mentally grimaced and replayed the last few hours in my mind – orders or no, he might try to stop my actions if he felt they were ‘wrong’. Alright, so maybe Malik wasn’t a potential source of backup… but surely he wouldn’t hinder my actions as they’ve already been set in motion? _Interrupting him once he was already committed to the action was pretty ridiculous… just keep focusing on the little things, not the big thing – dammit, don’t think about it!_

 “Ah. Well, this explains my missing man. What is it you want?” Robert folded his arms, tilting his head so that he was looking down upon us. The anger burned in my lungs at his apparent condescension, and I prepared myself to attack.

Words appeared in the side of my vision, reminding me that I had a part to play in this after all. I would be the one to choose whether to ‘assassinate’ Robert in high or low profile. _As if there’s anything low profile about this._ If I was going to be obvious about my attempted kill, I would be so the entire way. _High profile, it is._ I narrowed my eyes on the man and flashes of white data crossed his figure momentarily, as I mentally shifted into a more aggressive stance. As I made the decision, I felt control being wrested from me once more.

I responded with one word, burying my anger in this one word and focusing on this one action: “Blood.”

I began to lunge forward, being knocked horribly off balance moments later as something unexpectedly grabbed at my arm from a side that I thought was safe. What?! “No, don’t!” I fixed my balance as best I could, but it was too late. Robert knocked my bladed hand aside so that I was now lunging towards the floor. Even as I tried to reorient myself, he slammed his other open hand into my face, and it was only by the barest inches that I managed to miss the majority of the blow. _Ow ow ow! Kill the stupid Templar, Altair!_

I let out a gasp of pain and anger as he managed a hold on my bladed hand, my newfound balance – damn you Malik – being worth nothing as his other hand locked into the fabric of my robe. Shock mixed with anger as I fought against him, slamming forward with all of my incredible strength but being in a horrible position to gain any leverage. My blade almost reached his head, but he stopped it with nary a flinch as he tightened his grip on my wrist.

His face was even uglier up close, and he spat out words filled with hate into my face. “You know not the things in which you meddle, assassin.” I tried to stab him again with a vicious grunt of effort, but he only used the momentum to rotate us both so that my back was now closer to the doorway. “I spare you only that you may return to your master, and deliver a message.” Our bodies both shaking with effort, he managed to finish turning so that only empty air was behind me now. I once more lunged forward, coming close but never quite reaching the hated man’s skin. “The holy land is lost to him and his. He should flee now, while he has the chance.” Anger lent my arms strength as I pushed forward once more, only to fail again and be forced back once more. “Stay and all of you will die.”

The man took a step forward, forcing me back an equal distance. I felt his weight shift and my eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen. I managed to retract my blade as he forcefully shoved me backwards, and I collapsed through the open doorway. I managed to twist into a summersault, protecting my head but unable to stop my backwards motion as debris began to clutter around the opening. _No!_ I tripped backwards over an unexpected stair, landing at the bottom on my back in a limp heap.

I forced myself to my feet, but the last of the rubble had settled into place and entirely blocked the opening off. White flashed and I had control of my body once more, hurriedly turning my body around and racing to the newly created barrier. _There must be some way back to them!_

The voice I was quickly coming to hate began to speak as I moved forward, calling out, “Men! To arms; kill the assassins!” Sounds of battle rose as I reached the rock wall, fruitlessly pounding against its solid structure. Inside were the sounds of men dying, screaming their deaths as I scrabbled at the rock. I tried to climb the proverbial mountain, but there were no openings to slip through, no place not locked firmly into its new position. “Damn it!” I screamed out, kicking the wall hard enough to break several sandaled toes. I ignored the pain and synch bar drop as the fighting continued, forever locked out of my reach. _There must be some way… please… This never should have happened… Dammit!_

I stood before the stones, my eyes almost tearing up as I was forced to wait and listen without being any help – being the cause of the loss on the other side of the barrier. Altaïr’s eyes remained stubbornly dry, the Assassin’s years of emotional restraint blocking any outward sign of emotion. _Except, of course, for what caused the throbbing in my foot. I have the feeling that I’ll be sorely tempting this body’s emotional control – I bet I can make him cry before this week is through._ I bowed my head as I waited, hoping for anything to be different: for Kadar to survive, to hear of their success, for an opening to present itself… but nothing happened. _This is why I’m rarely optimistic: I know what’s going to happen; it’s not going to change just because I want it to. It’s stuck just how it happened in the past, and there isn’t a DAMN thing I can do about it!_

As the sounds began to fade, I finally forced my useless self away from the blocked entrance. There was nothing I could do – Kadar was dead, and Malik’s arm likely already injured beyond repair. Instead, I began to head for the exit, carefully stepping over the first low wall I came across. _Remember it’s just a video-game, and now it’s time to climb through the obligatory introductory obstacle course._ I walked up to a wooden platform just slightly taller than I, crawling up the side and standing on the wooden floor. I surveyed the best way to reach the exit, instantly throwing out the option of jumping across the small columns. I could work my way around and to the side, jumping across the swinging bundle of wood. …Or, I could just go straight forward, and hope that worked out for the best.

“Alright, Mr. Arrogance,” I muttered under my breath as I remembered at the last moment not to say the name I wasn’t supposed to know just yet. “Lend me your free-running capabilities.” Despite my words, it was with slow and careful movements that I climbed the next ‘step’, placing my hands on the wooden floor just below my eyes height and heaving my weight upwards in a quick motion. I landed in a crouch, standing up and preparing to keep moving forward. There were 3 wooden beams ahead of me, and I would have to jump the distance and climb the height between each one.

Sending off another prayer towards the long-dead assassin, I braced myself to gather momentum and then to use it. I ran forward several steps, launching myself into the air and landing with one foot on the wooden bar, springing forward to the next, then the next, and then managing to grab the edges of the next solid platform with my fingers. _Holy crap! I made it!_ I let my weight dangle there for a moment as I adjusted to my new position, and then once again pulled the entirety of my body upwards entirely by the strength of my arms.

As I pulled the rest of my body forward onto the new surface, I was quietly amazed by the strength of my new muscles. _From fat to far more than merely fit – this is incredible!_ A small thrill of childish glee washed through my body, and I was racing for the next jump before I could even think. I just managed to land on the wooden platform, the same height as the last but much farther away. I continued running up the wall, not stopping for a moment as I climbed the solid stone. I paused momentarily when the next stone wall reached far above my head, but my new enthusiasm pushed me to try it anyways with little hesitation.

My feet pushed against the vertical stone, propelling my body further upward until I managed to catch the edge, reaching the new height without any further problems. I turned to see the floor far below, and a sense of triumph filled my body. Any positive feelings fled as I caught sight of the former door, the archway filled with rocks and blocking the path to Malik and Kadar. _I’m sorry…_

Gritting my teeth, I continued into the next room, no longer thrilled with my success. I was momentarily confused when no passageway appeared before me, only a rock wall, until I looked up to see the edge far above. The wall was filled with ‘random’ protrusions, odd bulges at regular intervals. I spent a moment looking for the easiest path, and found one that was a straight climb to the top.

I moved towards the wall, placing my hand against the flat stone and wondering just how I was going to do this. _No, really, how is this supposed to work? I wasn’t exactly paying attention earlier, between the misery and exultation. Alright – I’m just going to go for the simplest route. It may not be the ‘easiest’ route, but it’ll probably be easier than jumping around like a monkey._ Just go straight forward, straight up until I reach the edge. With a slow breath, I moved back several feet so I could get a running start. I nodded once to myself, in support and acknowledgement that this _should_ work. _This better work just as well as it did in the last room…_

I dashed forward, using the momentum to propel me up past the first rock and to the second, which I desperately grabbed at with both hands. My grip held firm for mere moments as my legs drew up to crouch on the rock, and then my gloved hands were already reaching up to grab at the wood above. I pushed off from the rock and the wood simultaneously, stretching and reaching until I could grab the next rock and place my foot firmly against the wood my hand had just left. My other pair of limbs was following before the first even made contact, grabbing onto the same places as the first had once gripped. I forced back the instinctual panic as I bent down slightly, springing upwards once again, and again, and again; bending momentum and gravity to my will. _Just keep moving, just keep moving, moving, moving; don’t panic, just go straight forwards, straight up. Let the momentum do the work, your muscle memory be the driving force._

I nearly shrieked as I skipped a rock that I’d been expecting to grab, almost fumbling my grip on the next rock and the wood after that. _Don’t fall, trust Altaïr; don’t fall, trust Altaïr; don’t fall, trust Altair._ Finally I crested the stone wall, and the sight of stone buildings in sunset greeted my eyes. _Oh, thank you Lord!_

_“Skipping part of memory to a more recent one,”_ the computer suddenly called out. Wait, what? Give me a moment to –

White blurred forward and overcame my vision, pressing into my mind and temporarily halting all thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is chapter 4! Wow, this was harder than I thought. I did not expect to hear Altaïr’s thoughts, but what do I hear? Altaïr’s thoughts, that’s what. I’ve come up with the decision that his thoughts are available when my sync bar’s top row is filled and it’s a really emotional moment. I’ve waved away the close-ups with eagle vision – not only can Altaïr see the colors, he can enhance his senses; this is how he eavesdrops on targets so well. Or, you know, he can just focus that precisely when he wants; it doesn’t have to have a mystical explanation.  
> Let me know what you think? Yes, I know I’m being weird over Malik and Kadar; I blame fanfiction. *sheepish grin* Lucy and Warren – who are indeed watching, or at least casually observing – are probably wondering just what is wrong with me. Hopefully they’ll assume that the two assassins remind me of someone, or represent to me the order I left behind…  
> Safety and Peace.
> 
> Original upload: June 26, 2014  
> Last updated: July 15, 2014  
> Words w/o A/N: 7,193  
> Words with A/N: 7,594


	5. Welcome to Masyaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick chat with Lucy and Vidic? Check - wait, what?  
> Background music? Check.  
> Actual friendly presence inside the city? Check.  
> Walking & balance issues now that I'm no longer in an adrenaline filled situation? Check.  
> Antagonist inside the city I really want to be rid of? Check.  
> Random guard who respects me? Check.  
> Procrastination, procrastination, procrastination? Check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, we’re talking with Warren and Lucy in the loading screen! Hadn’t planned on that, but I guess it makes sense. Here we go!  
> If anyone is wondering, the last name of my character is Cross. No relation to Daniel Cross – I was just looking for a ‘C’ last name and a lot of the rest sounded weird with my chosen first name – I mentioned ‘my’ name in passing exactly once in the first chapter.  
> …And I’m back, 4 months later. I’m so sorry! Let’s see if I can’t finish this chapter before Assassin’s Creed Unity comes out in an hour. Squee!!!! …*ahem*. Once more, many apologies. No action in this chapter – I’m a really slow writer. Oops. Next chapter, I promise – may it come soon.

I was once again warped into the blue space between memories, the odd land of never-ending fog that constituted as a loading screen. The monotony was broken by flashes of white, words and shapes appearing and disappearing before I could focus on them. It was a stark contrast to the cave I had just left behind: ‘bright’ and open; rather than dark, enclosed, and filled with misery.

I staggered forward several steps, still feeling as if there should be a giant cliff face behind me if I just turned around. The threat of falling and feeling of loss was still persistent, momentarily glossed over by the thrill of effortless climbing but returning as the positive feelings faded. I wanted away from that invisible edge, away from the deaths of those below. I grit my teeth as I moved forward, noting that even though I apparently couldn’t cry, I could grind Altair’s teeth flat. _Hello, new coping method. Actually, this would be horrible to bleed over into my real body – I don’t want flat teeth. What was it I did when actually playing?_ I unclenched my jaw, already feeling the tension building and bringing an ache to the bones, and instead flicked out my hidden blade. The empty sound of it releasing into thin air and then retreating was actually calming, a callback to simpler times of playing the game rather than the bloody ringing sound of stabbing into _simulated, I can’t forget that,_ human flesh.

As the blade slid back into its sheathe, a voice called out from the vast space surrounding me. _“Desmond, are you okay?”_ I jumped in surprise and instinctively fell into a defensive crouch as the words tumbled down from the thick air. It took a moment for the words and speaker to register, and I blinked in surprise at hearing Lucy’s voice. _Is she talking to me while Masyaf loads? I don’t remember this._

I slowly relaxed my tense frame, releasing my battle-ready stance and settling into something a little more casual, if no less balanced. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” I deflected. I cleared my throat awkwardly as my words came out in Altair’s voice with a slightly Arabic lilt. The echo of my voice sounding in my ears was enough to crack my façade and caused me to shake my head in angry negation.

“Actually, no – scratch that, I’m not anywhere _near_ fine!” I shouted at the empty ceiling, not seeing any real reason to hide my anger and covering it with the questions I felt that Desmond would have asked. “Just what was that? My ancestor – who is he? Why could I hear what that arrogant bastard was speaking? Just how long ago was this?” I was breathing harshly by the end, all 9 fingers clenched into tight fists as anger burned in my chest. “And why the fuck am I missing a finger?” I practically spit out, waving the hand with the missing digit in the air, remaining fingers splayed apart. I was burning with anger and indignation, not all of it my own, and I really wanted to hear just what they would say about all this, what _lies_ they would tell me or what they would try to brush off.

The response that followed was equally as infuriating as the person who spoke it. _“Now, now, Mr. Miles; don’t you remember your Assassin bedtime stories?”_ I snorted in derision at the thought of Bill reading me _as Desmond, that is,_ bedtime stories, focused on the ancient Assassins or not. Maybe there actually had been bedtime stories that relayed what had once happened before in a more child-friendly and entertaining way – there probably were, actually, that seemed like a reasonably humane way to introduce a child to the age-old war – but I had never heard any.

The Bastard – _I think I’ll adopt Desmond’s favorite swear word especially for this waste of flesh –_ apparently sensed my distinct lack of confirming his statement, and correctly assumed the denial was at the knowledge and not just his person. _“The removal of the left ring finger was once used as a sign of commitment to the cause – much like in a gang or the mafia – and was once necessary if the assassin wanted to use the hidden blade.”_

I grimaced, and unconsciously clenched my fist tighter, hand long since brought back to my side. “Well, that’s just great. Now how about who, what, and when that was – and maybe about some lunch. You do feed your prisoners when you want them to do something for you, don’t you?” Inelegant, perhaps, but I wanted to eat and escape the Animus for just a moment; a moment of relative peace to even begin processing what had just happened, and the battles I would be facing once the memory loaded.

_“There’s no need for that, Mr. Miles,”_ said the creepy Doctor Bastard. Doctor or no, he apparently wasn’t a nutritionist.

There was a moment of silence while I tried to figure out just what he meant. “Uh, yeah doc, there is. Look, I don’t know what you think you know about Assassins, but I’m just a regular guy. This means I need 3 full meals a day, 7 days a week if you want me able to do this… whatever this is for you.” _Seriously, I’m only human; I need food!_

Lucy was the one to explain, rather than the doctor. The pattern progressing was pretty evident, and I was once again torn between gratitude for both her knowledge and kindness and… sadness, I guess, at the manipulation. _“Don’t worry, Desmond. Whenever you’re in the Animus, an IV is inserted that replaces the calories you lose and provides you with the necessary nutrition.”_   Oh, that was just brilliant. _Surprise, surprise: it’s Lucy to the rescue, once again swooping in to be the voice of comfort and reason._

My response was somewhat less than thrilled, “Yeah? Well, as much as I love the idea of being buried so deep inside machinery that’s screwing with my head that I can’t feel when an IV is inserted, my stomach disagrees and would like to lodge a complaint for some actual food.” _Alright, so I can’t actually feel my stomach… I wonder, is there another needle inside me that is used to access the genetic material in my blood? I remember ‘Becca needing to insert one for Baby to work, but I wasn’t stuck like a pig before they forced me into Altair’s memories here._

Lucy’s voice carried with it a soft apology, but no respite. _“I’m sorry, Desmond, but we don’t have the time for you to sit down to a 3-course meal.”_

I snorted once, in mild humor and annoyance. “Yeah? Well, you seem to be taking plenty of time just to chat. Does it really take this long just to, what, load a new memory?”

The Bastard was back to being the speaker, and he clearly wasn’t impressed with the delay either. _“Ms. Stillman insists on monitoring your mental health, and it doesn’t bode well that you’re already distressed before we’ve finished the first memory.”_

Crap, I was kind of hoping he would have taken insult at the loading speed instead of concentrating on my emotional upheaval. “Come on, any guy would be a bit off balance after all that just happened! First I’m kidnapped, then forced into this crazy machine, dragged through a stupid-long tutorial, killed a man, and then listened to two other guys get killed because I was acting arrogant while  I was trapped on the other side of some stupid rocks. Only, it wasn’t me doing all this, but a long-dead ancestor, and I still don’t have a clue just who he is!” I tried not to flinch much when I said killed a man. I think I failed, but at least I hadn’t faltered as I spoke.

Gee, will it be Mr. Condescending who speaks next or Ms. Confidant with the answer? _“His name is Altair – Altair Ibn-La’Ahad. He’s a Syrian Assassin from the 12 th century, and the other two were also Assassins.”_ It was Lucy, of course.

“I kind of figured that last bit out myself when they started mentioning the Creed. Why am I hearing this Altair guy’s thoughts? I thought you said this would be a 3-D projector, not an emotional roller-coaster.” Maybe it was unwise to spill the beans that much, but I could _not_ become useless to them or Lucy would never have any reason to rescue me. The emotional thing shouldn’t be any real news, unlike the thoughts. That was just plain _weird_ , but it was consistent with all of the Bleeding Fics I’d once read… _which I’m trying not to think about just yet, thank you very much._

It was The Bastard’s turn to speak again, and he clearly did so with great relish. _“That’s all you need to know, Mr. Miles. Now, I think it’s been more than long enough for Ms. Stillman to be reassured, so it’s past time you reentered the memories.”_

“Hold on – wait –“ The blue was fading into white once more, pulling me deeper into the machine and back into Altair’s far-too-alive memories.

**A C - S I**

When the light faded into the dusty pallor of sandy sunlight, I found myself standing in an open area, the gates of Masyaf just behind me. The light flared several more times as the image settled and the sound of chimes started, and my attention quickly focused on one person in particular. It was a man, leaning against a small wall with his arms folded across his chest. He quickly pushed himself off the barrier and moved towards me, his arms outstretched in welcome.

“Altair! You’ve returned!” His voice was light, a warm welcome home despite my mistakes.

“Rauf…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say to the only one I could perhaps call my friend.

“It is good to see you unharmed.” My eyes closed briefly as I remembered that I was the only one sent out that remained healthy – alive – unharmed, as he had put it. “I trust your mission is a success?” His voice was gentle, not forcing, not assuming. He could likely see that something was wrong, but was not forcing me to speak.

I could not tell him. “Is the Master in his tower?” I would not admit to defeat; not here where anyone could here, not now when I could delay it for just a while longer.

Rauf accepted the change in topic and answered me quickly. “Yes, yes; buried in his books as always. No doubt he expects you.”

The Master was waiting, expecting me – yet he was also expecting victory, the treasure, and the lives of the assassin’s that went with me. It took a moment to settle my voice before I could speak to Rauf, “My thanks, brother.”

“Safety and peace, Altair,” he bid farewell, accepting my end to the conversation.

It was unlikely that I would receive either after I delivered my news, so I was grateful for his well-wishes. “On you as well,” I offered quietly.

The light flared slightly and I shook out my body, trying to shake off the dregs of Altair that had crept up while we had talked. I noted the GPS that appeared in the bottom-right corner of my vision, and the explanation that came with it. The only symbol decorating the radar was the Assassin Symbol, symbolizing my objective and the location of where the Master must be; 248 steps away from where I now stood.

I began walking down the cobbled streets, my feet carrying me forwards while my eyes sought to take in all of my surroundings. The houses were made of what I thought was clay and brick, wood posts sticking out of the walls and providing nice handholds for future free-running. There were tens of people, wandering the dusty streets and gathering in front of market stalls and wherever else the shade might cover. I could hear the sound of wind-chimes in the breeze, voices filling the dry air, and the sound of metal clanking with each aimless step. There was the soft sound of a woman singing, a wordless cry that stayed with me as I moved.

I paused in my scanning of the surroundings, realizing that I shouldn’t actually know where to go. _Would it be suspicious if I purposefully got lost in the bottom portion of this village? Lord knows I did it enough times in the beginning, even if I know the town fairly well by now. I better not risk it – I feel that if I unconsciously wandered forward, my subconscious would ‘drive’ me to where I was supposed to go._ I decided to check the map – sure, the GPS told me the direction of my next target and how far I needed to go to get there, but it didn’t show anything that occurred along the way.

When I pulled up the menu, I saw that the first line of DNA had been colored white. Curiosity drove me to select the strand, and I grimaced as I read the updated information. **Solomon’s Temple – Jerusalem / Memory: Acquisition / Memory Complete – “Failure! But I am not to blame. Had Malik not restrained me, Robert de Sable would be dead – and the artifact ours. Surely Al Mualim will see things my way.”**

“Malik…” I said aloud, not sure whether it was grief or rage that quieted the name. The entry must have been updated immediately after the incident, before the doubtlessly long journey to Masyaf, as Altair’s rage had cooled some since these words had been dictated. Although the anger was present and simmering in the emotions surrounding me, it was trepidation and regret that carried the greatest presence. It was the fear of presenting failure to the Master, the regret that I had failed his expectations. It carried far less of the indignation that had burned through the words in the entry, the emotions fading as the recipient was assumed dead. I closed my eyes and tried not to see, and then moved onto the next memory

These words carried the emotions I was ‘feeling’, the anxiety rather than the anger, the regret rather than the rage. **Solomon’s Temple – Jerusalem / Memory: Failure / Memory Open – “I must return to Al Mualim and tell him of our troubles within Solomon’s Temple.”** Short, to the point, Altair had thought as if he was afraid to think anymore. “ _Our troubles” …now that’s an understatement._ At least I ‘knew’ the name of the Master now. “Al Mualim…”I muttered quietly to no one in particular. _*cough* Lucy and Vidic *cough*._

I studied the map for several minutes, tracing my future path with a finger. I didn’t actually need the aid, but it was probably not a good idea to show my knowledge of Masyaf without having a possible reason behind it. I wouldn’t have this problem with any other cities, but I had spent enough time memorizing the 20 flag locations that I could generally get to where I needed to be in Masyaf with only a little sidetracking and creative maneuvering. Anywhere else, and… well… parkour makes it a little easier to just run in a mostly straight line across the rooftops, rather than fighting through the roads.

With a sigh, I closed the menu and began to walk once more. I started to jog down the center path leading away from the gate, and then veered left so that I was now aimed directly at the giant castle overlooking the town. _Well, that makes a pretty decent landmark… and, wow, does it look impressive in ‘real’ life._ I continued jogging up the hill, quietly thankful when the incline added little effort to my exertion. _I don’t know whether that’s due to the Animus or Altair’s fitness, but thank you very much!_ I did nearly bump into someone, who shouted something along the lines of watch out, but I didn’t run into anyone else… mostly.

I tripped a little and ended up running over some rocks, but it didn’t really effect my movements. _That I can attribute to the Animus, no doubt. Let’s give a yay for ‘flat’ ground, even when there are uneven objects sticking up._ I turned left without hesitation when the path split around an overlooking mound, but paused when I reached the open ground up top. There were multiple paths to follow – the one almost exactly straight forward was the correct one – but how easy would it be to tell which way to go? I looked up briefly to see the castle ahead, then at my GPS, and I continued forward along the correct path. I didn’t really want to face Al Mualim, but I wanted to linger with Altair’s negative emotions swirling around even less. _They really aren’t helping me feel any better, with my own – mostly my own? – emotions._

I began running again, avoiding the random civilian walking the paths and taking in the sights. It really was more impressive, experiencing Altair’s world firsthand, but I felt that I couldn’t stop to appreciate it. Instead I followed the path, almost running into several more people, and admittedly coming embarrassingly close to several buildings when I didn’t turn properly. I still wasn’t used to the new center of gravity, even though Altair was taking care of most of the subconscious movements. It was _weird_ running as a guy. For one thing, there was no irritating bouncing; that was a huge plus, but it still threw me off. I wasn’t exactly sure, either, but Altair _might_ have been slightly shorter than I was. _Huh. Actually, revise the slightly – I think he’s at least several inches shorter than I am. Yay, go me! I actually beat Altair at something!_

I veered away from running over another bed of rocks, coming within a foot of another person. He lurched back and began to screech out, but I was already gone by the time he spoke. _Seriously, I didn’t come_ that _close to hitting you; chill out!_ I slowed rather than run into the next man; turning and choosing the ‘path’ that faced the enormous castle rather than continuing onwards into a small collection of houses.

_Wow…_ I walked slowly, taking in my first uninterrupted view of the castle. The chorus in the background – _wait, there really is background music?!?_ – swelled as I stared up at the towering castle. _Okay; I’m officially incredibly impressed… and intimidated. Wow. I wonder what’s in those upper floors – Offices? Dorms?_ I walked slowly rather than running again, taking in the mesmerizing view.

When I reached the cliff side and could no longer see the castle properly, I began to run once more. The pathway was thinner, but I was getting the hang of running as Altair, so it wasn’t that bad. _Oops! Sorry – didn’t mean to almost run into you there._ As I reached the castle gates, I saw someone waiting just inside the portcullis. I narrowed my eyes as I recognized Abbas. _Well, when I say recognize, I mean remember who that’s supposed to be. Between the robes and the sudden transition from pixels to actuality, I’m recognizing these people more by what they’re doing and saying than what they look like… just like I do in real life because my facial recognition sucks. Ugh._

I waited for a moment with a futile hope that he would go away if I didn’t go near him; he didn’t. With a near silent sigh, I stepped forward several more steps and triggered the event. White light flashed in the periphery as Abbas moved forwards. “Ah,” he began, unfolding his crossed arms – the posture hostile, unlike Rauf’s, even though the man at the gate had taken almost the exact same pose. _Huh, never noticed that symmetry before._ “He returns at last.” The other man slipped forward, snakelike as he moved.

“Abbas,” I replied with much less hostility than I had expected. _I forgot that Altair doesn’t hate him; it’s just Abbas that hates Altair._ I tried to walk past the man, but my legs came to a halt without my command. _Come on, let me through and head to my ‘death’ already!_

Abbas made to peer exaggeratedly over my shoulder. “Where are the others? Did you ride ahead, hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loathe to share the glory.” His words were a question, but his tone implied otherwise. He moved away as I said nothing, biting back the emotions that sprung up unexpectedly, too tangled to place names. Abbas seemed cocky, projecting a near physical presence of arrogance as he took my lack of words as an assurance of the ‘truth’ he spoke. “Silence is just another form of assent.”

Irritation bubbled forth, temporarily rising above the rest. “Have you nothing better to do?”

His next words were almost civil, but remained dismissive. “I bring word from the Master. He waits for you in the library.” He turned to face me entirely, before he leaned forward mockingly. “Best hurry: no doubt you’re eager to put your tongue to his boot.” He emphasized his words with actions, mockingly motioning to his own booted foot.

Anger rose, the emotion coming clearer than even the irritation had moments ago. It probably didn’t help that I felt quite rightfully angry on my own. “Another word and I’ll put my blade to your throat.” I could feel the intent behind the words; Altair meant what he said. _Quite frankly, I wish that he would. Treacherous, disbelieving, blind little scumbag of stupidity that Abbas is…_

Abbas turned back to once more lean against the gate, waving me off as he spoke. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later… _brother._ ” He practically hissed out the last word, a mockery of the emotion the words were supposed to carry. He returned to his earlier post, folding his arms once more as he leant against the wall.

Light flashed as I angrily strode forth, eager to get away from the humanoid viper. Words appeared to the side, reminding me that Abbas was long dead and I was just viewing a memory of the little toe-rag. I couldn’t decide whether that actually helped me feel better or worse. **WEAPON RESTRICTION; In the fortress, weapons are restricted to the training ring only.**

I decided to test the words, attempting to trigger my hidden blade. Nothing happened – my arm simply refused to comply. Frustrated, I pinched the bridge of my nose with two fingers on my right hand. _I wouldn’t want to accidently stab myself with my left hand – actually, that would be pretty amusing, since the Animus could just fix the damage. Imagine Altair, accidently stabbing himself with his hidden blade because he was too frustrated or simply wanted to wipe sand out of his eyes._

I felt my anger easing away, and did my best to put Abbas and his future actions firmly to the back of my mind. _There will be a time to reflect on his actions later, but that time is not now. In the immortal words of one of the Pokémon professors, “There is a time and place for everything, but it isn’t now.” … Or was it something else? Am I already forgetting pieces of my world? …Am I really getting worked up by misremembering a quote from a game I haven’t played in years? Argh, I really need to calm down…_

I started paying attention to my surroundings again, noting that I had apparently stopped walking at a split in the road. To my right lay a tall tower, awaiting my first leap of faith _oh man that’s going to be terrifying and totally awesome_ , and in front lay the last steps to the entrance of the building. I paused as I reached the first step, something completely inconsequential pulling at my mind.

It was something so mundane, so pointless, but I still hadn’t forgotten it. _Let’s hear it for my odd memory latching on to only the little things, rather than remembering names or faces or what’s on my next test!_ As I recalled what the tiny incident was, my ears figuratively pricked up, and I was much more focused on the surrounding sounds and sights. Each noise was suddenly crisper than before, the music fading as I tuned in to catch the answer to my mystery.

I started up the stone steps, silently marveling at my hearing, and trained my newly attuned eyes and ears onto the two guards, one on either side of the open door. _Any moment now,_ I thought as I reached the top of the stairs. The world seemed to narrow down as I focused on the guards, everything else fading into silence.

Motion caught my eye as sound broke back into my world. “It is an honor,” came the expected murmur. The words themselves were quiet, but they seemed to ring with the force of drums in my focused ears. I was focused on the sound the moment the first syllable was pronounced, and I finally saw which of the guards had spoken. The one on the left dipped his head in a sign of respect – this was the one who would offer me true respect.

I moved to stand before the man, observing him as he straightened up, once more proud and silent in his guard pose. _So, he is the one how spoke, is one of the assassins who would offer me – Altair – respect?_ I watched him remain still for a moment more, but nodded to myself, satisfied with my conclusion. _And thus, the simple mystery is solved. …No more procrastinating._

I hesitated for a moment longer, giving the man another look-over before heading inside. _I wonder… will your respect for Altair remain?_ As I stepped through the doorway and into the shade, I let out a sigh of relief as the temperature dropped at least 10 degrees. _Or, about 5 degrees Celsius, I suppose._ I moved farther into the cooler room, observing the other guards as the remained motionless in their positions. One of them began talking, but I didn’t notice who it was. “The Master waits within.” _Of course he does._

Instead of heading up the staircase, I decided to procrastinate a bit longer by examining the bookshelves. Heading over to the section on the left - _there's going to be flag there, just a few feet away_ – I tried to read the titles of the books. … … Nothing. All that was decorating the bindings were leather covers, occasionally a squiggle going down the middle. _Is that just a cop-out from the Animus, or Arabic? Or is it Syrian? Well, if I still can’t read them at the end, I guess I’ll know which it is._

Tearing myself away from the books, I finally headed up the staircase, pausing only momentarily at the wrought iron door that was blocking the garden. _The promised ‘garden of paradise’… hah_ , I thought disdainfully. Walking past the guard on the right, I finished walking up the stairs and stopped in the hallway. There was a rug beneath my feet, and a rather threatening figure ahead.

_Well, I guess there’s no more avoiding my failure now._ I took in a deep, fortifying breath, and moved forward. I stopped just before entering the middle of the room, needing to gather my strength once more. _Alright: it isn’t me that is about to be chewed out, it’s not my fault the mission was a failure, I’m not about to be killed, I already knew about what happened to Malik and Kadar, and I can do this._

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, step forward. _Let’s get this show on the road._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Here we are, almost a quarter of the year later. Er, did I say 1/4th of a year? I meant just under three months. …That doesn't sound any better. Well, the few of you who are reading, you have my deepest apologies: not just for the late chapter, but because absolutely nothing was done in this chapter. I can guarantee that there will be fighting and action in the next chapter, no matter what I wish, because the game demands it.  
> Sorry for cutting it off here as well, but that was where my video clip ended, and it seemed a good place to stop. Almost a 5k word chapter, and that’s my goal. If I had included Al Mualim’s scene, it would have added another thousand words and another hour of work… and my AC Unity guide was just released. Um, I might return and add more to this chapter later, but I don’t think I will??  
> I just realized that I really am really weird, and choose to fixate on the oddest things. I mean, focusing on the guard? Just…. really? Well. Let’s use this story as a gauge to see just how sane I am – and just how stable my character is.  
> Hopefully seeing you again soon,  
> Safety and Peace go with you.   
> Words w/o A/N: 4,641  
> Words w/ A/N: 5,000


	6. Welcome to the War Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no more procrastinating - I have to face the Master with my failure. At least it's Altair who's responding - I'm once again drowning in his emotions. He sure has a lot of emotions for the stoic image he projects...  
> Now there's Malik, with only one working arm; the treasure, which looks like a golden egg; and the news of an invasion, of which I am supposed to foil almost single-handedly. There was a reason I was in no rush to throw myself in the path of this sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Well, I’m trying to type this up before one of my classes, so no promises on how much I can write. Obviously, I won’t release the chapter without hitting 5k words with the authors note, but I dislike writing in sections instead of creating the entire chapter in one go… it leads to irritating jumps in emotion, as can be seen in the last chapter._  
>  But, hey, I’m trying to be constructive with my irritation at Assassin’s Creed Unity, and I’m trying to increase my update speed again. Once more, I apologize for the long break in chapters. I’m trying to complete this chapter before Sunday night, especially for you guys.  
> \- Obviously I failed, but I did manage to finish is in just 4 weeks! Er, 1 month! Er... yeah, still way too long.  
> Special thanks go to CrimsonWing67, who called me out on my chapter not being uploaded correctly on ff net. Yes, this is AO3 and not fanfiction.net, but this reviewer still deserves a shoutout.

Steeling myself for the confrontation of my failures, no matter that Altaïr was the one truly at fault, I forced myself to continue the last few steps needed to trigger the cutscene – or rather, for my control over ‘my’ body to be taken away. My breathing was slow, steady, and my heart was beating at a forcibly calmed pace. This may or may not have been because of Altaïr and/or the Animus, because I definitely had little control over my heart rate.

As soon as I walked past the bookshelves, I turned to face the Master. He was in the nearest corner, and turned away from the shelves as I entered. He moved to his desk as he greeted me in a gesture of respect, and I felt my heart constrict slightly. “Altaïr,” he said, in a quiet and confidant voice.

I bowed my head in reply, uttering only a single word with all the respect I could infuse. “Master,” I responded quietly.

I raised my head as the Master spoke again. “Come forward; tell me of your mission.” I wanted to swallow with my suddenly dry mouth, but my self-control refused to fail me. Still, I could not respond, could not move. There was silence, in which Al Mualim began to frown. After several moments in which no words made it past my frozen lips, he began to speak again. “I trust you have recovered the Templar’s treasure.” There was no question in his words, the conclusion forgone – and wrong.

I forced myself to move in front of his desk, and my frozen lips finally loosened their hold of my mouth. “There was some trouble, Master.” Trepidation had kept my words soft, respectful. “Robert de Sable was not alone.”

Al Mualim made a conciliatory gesture. He clearly still assumed that I had returned victorious, but now he seemed to note the lack of people by my side as the result of death or injury, rather than haste to be first. “When does our work ever go as expected?” he asked in a vaguely comforting measure. He continued on, and my hope for his understanding plummeted. “It’s our ability to adapt who makes us who we are.” _So, our ability to sacrifice others in order to triumph in the mission, is that what you believe happened?_

I managed to keep speaking, forcing out the words that would admit to my failure. “This time, it was not enough.” Al Mualim’s face changed instantly, into something far more intimidating and unforgiving. Well, _shit._

His response was immediate. “What do you mean?” He seemed to be giving me one chance to quickly change what I had just said. Unfortunately, he seemed to have arrived at the correct conclusion already, and nothing I said would prove otherwise. _He looks seriously irritated – no, that’s way too mild a term; he’s completely pissed. Damage control, damage control!_

One more sentence, and my punishment was all but decreed. “I have failed you.” One failed mission, when it is so rare that I return with anything less than glowing success. Surely this would afford me some leniency? What use is a dead tool, after all?

The Master began moving around his desk, speaking as he moved, “And the treasure?” _There’s a reason I procrastinated as long as I could before coming, and I think I’m only just seeing the beginning of it now._

My mouth was still dry as I spoke, but I forced myself to respond to the Master. Even though I was writing my own death warrant, I answered, “Lost to us.”

The Master was coming closer. I held my ground, but remained deferential to the one who had taught me, and then raised me above the rest. His words were even more forceful, “and Robert?”

Trepidation faded away as anger came to take its place. “He escaped,” I said bitterly. If only Malik hadn’t interrupted with his Creed-Forsaken stupidity…

My attention was fully returned to Al Mualim as he moved closer, his blind eye wild and his fists clenched. _Can we run away yet?_ “I send _you_ , my best man,” he began, and a shiver raced down my spine at his tone, “to complete a mission more important than _any_ that has come before.” He was facing away, apparently looking for patience, wisdom, and restraint in the ceiling. I quietly prayed that he might find such sentiments, so that my life might be spared. “And you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses!” he spat out.

I tried to mount a defense, but only made it through the second word before I was cut off. “I did-“

A hand was instantly outstretched in front of my face, stopping my words before I could even attempt to defend myself. “Do not speak!” the old man bit out forcefully. “Not another word!” He lowered his hand and walked away, leaving me to stew for moments longer. “This is not what I expected,” he muttered under his breath. “We’ll need to mount another force.” He turned back, already caught in his musings.

Sensing an attempt to make up for the failure of a mission, I quickly offered my services. “I swear to you, I’ll find him. I’ll go and –“

“No!” my words were instantly cut off, and the anger in the Master’s voice had me wishing I hadn’t drawn his attention back to myself. “You will do _nothing_!” You’ve done enough.” There was silence for several moments as I tried to master the sudden pain in my chest, and the Master finally looked around curiously. “Where are Malik and Kadar?” he asked, the anger in his voice replaced by curiosity and concern.

I closed my eyes for but a brief second as I sealed the final nail in my coffin. “Dead,” I admitted in as strong a voice as I could manage. My crimes were now threefold in his eyes. Not only had a failed what was importantly the most important mission, I had returned with such a failure, and I had cost him two highly promising assassins that he personally knew. I was about to respond, when movement on my left caught my attention. I turned to look, and _holy crap that’s a lot of blood._ My breath caught in my throat as I saw the, bloody, bedraggled, and disheveled figure of Malik.

Although Malik’s presence proved that he had not fallen into death’s grasp, he looked but minutes from falling into her clutches. His left arm was entirely coated with blood, a mess of make-shift bandages and lost lifeblood. It hung limply at his side, with nary a twitch or spasm to show the pain that must be present. The blood had coated the left side of his robes, dying them a deep red from armpit to hem. His right arm, sleeve similarly bloodied, was stretched across his body and supporting his apparently lame arm. His face was drawn and haggard, dark shadows under his eyes where there wasn’t blood covering his features. He looked as if he had not slept at all on the long road back to Masyaf – and he must not have, to have arrived so shortly after I passed through the gates myself. _Did he even stop to eat? Mourn? Bury his brother?_

Yet the most disturbing aspect of this tableau was the lack of another person at his side – no young assassin in dove grey robes, no picture of youthful naiveté waiting eagerly behind him. Perhaps Malik had ordered Kadar to head directly to home as he went to Al Mualim by himself, but I could not discount the death screams I had heard behind the blocked door. Kadar’s absence could not be explained away in such a benign scenario – he was either healing in Jerusalem and had let his brother go on alone, was even now being rushed to the healers here, or he was dead.

“No!” Malik cried as he entered the private alcove. “Not dead,” He bit out his words forcefully, struggling past the pain that must be present. He stood silent for a moment, accusation weighing heavily in his eyes as he stared at me, before he jerked his head to face the Master. _Oh, Malik… I’m so sorry._

Al Mualim was surprised, and it showed in his tone as he spoke, “Malik?” I stood silent, split between guilt, relief, and a renewed sense of anger.

Malik’s next words were torn from his throat with the force of a sob, grief heavy in his voice as he screamed. “I still live, at least!” He released his left arm as he bent forward with anger, moved by the sheer force of his rage.

The Master was clearly concerned, but made no further move. “And your brother?” he asked.

Malik seemed to crumple slightly were he stood, his next words bowing him further than the pain had. “Gone,” he bit out tersely, obviously having still not truly accepted this fact. He suddenly turned, once more focusing on me. He seemed to straighten, and a fire blazed within his darkened eyes as he roared out, “because of YOU!”

I straightened and took several steps forward, as indignation raced through my veins. He would place the blame solely on my shoulders, when he had offered no other plans, no true words of advice behind his rote criticisms, when he was the one who had destroyed any chance of success when he ruined our best chance at killing the Grandmaster Templar? Out of respect for his brother, I would not lay the blame solely at his feet, but I refused to take the entirety of his blame.

“Robert threw me from the room. There was no way back, nothing I could do!” The heat was evident in my own voice; I had tried for as long as I dared to force my way through the broken passageway. I had fought with the immobile rocks for far longer than I should have, hearing every dying scream and roar of pain as I was trapped, helpless.

 These words only drove Malik to new heights of anger, and he screamed in my face, motioning furiously with his only working arm. “Because you would not heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided!’ The anger disappeared for but a moment, only to be replaced with pain. “And my brother…” The pain swiftly turned back to anger, and he once again spat his words into my face. “My brother would still be alive!”

This time, I said nothing. My face was once more set into its neutral mask as I refused to respond to his words. I bit back the sharp retorts, the rightful truth, the hurtful words, and instead stayed my tongue for what he had suffered. I would allow him to rage at me now, while his grief was fresh, but I refused to take all of the blame. He was striking at me because he himself had played a role in his brother’s death, and he refused to admit it to himself. ‘ _There is anger in your heart, my child’… Malik, don’t you dare drown yourself in anger._ He would suffer through turmoil until he accepted this fact, and I was not one to strike a downed man – not unless the Master had commanded it. _Well, that’s only a little screwed up. God, Malik… this… this is heart-breaking to watch, to hear, to feel. Will these memories always be filled with such suffering?_

Malik waited while I said nothing, but as the seconds passed by with no response on my part, he spoke but a single sentence of his own. “Your arrogance nearly cost us victory today.” His words were softer, never gentle, but he had at least stopped screaming. More important than the tone, however, was the message his words carried.

Al Mualim seemed to notice the meaning behind his words immediately, and his next word was spoken with renewed hope; “Nearly?”

Malik waited for but a moment, likely in an attempt to once more modulate his tone and his words before the master. Indeed, I was surprised that he had not been struck for his earlier disrespect; the Master was not one to bear ill manners, as I knew painfully well from personal experience. “I’ve what your favorite failed to find.” His tone was bitter yet triumphant, and the sudden movement from behind him caught my eye.

An assassin was approaching, something gold and heavy in his outstretched arms. “Here,” Malik offered, gesturing towards the approaching person without even looking, “Take it.” His words were growing tired now, the energy almost entirely absent from his body. The sheer physical and emotional drain must be dragging on his footsteps, sapping away his energy until it seemed there was none left.

I focused on the object, no longer trapped within its golden case. It appeared to be a chalice, surrounded by leafs of gold curving outwards and topped with a similarly golden lid, with the Templar’s symbol at the height of it. As the hooded assassin carefully moved past Al Mualim to place the treasure on his desk, Malik began speaking again. This time, Malik’s words were vaguely regretful, and slightly hesitant, “Though it seems I’ve returned with more than their treasure.”

There was silence as the weight of the wounded assassin’s words took form in our minds. _’The British are coming, the British are coming!’_  A sudden shout from the hallway drew away all of our attention; “Master!” The assassin came barreling into the foyer. Although this truly not the time, I was amused at the thought that the alcove had more people in it now, in a single moment, than had been allowed in a single month. “We are under attack! Robert de Sable lays siege to Masyaf’s village!” Any humor instantly drained, and anger swelled up and filled my body with renewed rage. He would _dare_ to attack my home?! _Let these ‘jackals’ drive him away, biting at his feet and tearing with our fangs until only shreds of his army are left!_

“So, he seeks a battle?” The words were spoken by Al Mualim with anger and derision, and a great deal of challenge. “Very well; I will not deny him.” He paused for but a moment’s thought before continuing, “Go! Inform the others. The village must be prepared.” The latest assassin nodded, then turned and began running down the hallways he had entered through. The Master turned to me once more, and I was torn between relief and dread at his renewed attention. “As for you, Altaïr,” his voice was soft as he spoke, “Our discussion will have to wait!” He voice bit off in a sharp snap as he finished speaking, but he continued on a moment later. “You must make for the village, destroy these invaders; drive them from our home!”

Relief rushed through my body and twinned with the simmering rage, producing a feeling of pleasure that found itself rooted in duty. “It will be done,” I said, and the words were to be found the truth. I would let no pawn of Robert see the next dawn of Masyaf, and I would hopefully be able to rectify the problem of Robert remaining alive. I felt a wicked smile beginning to curve the corners of my lips as I turned, and –

 

The world turned white and there were suddenly words pouring directly into my head, lacking the emotions that had driven the discussion I had just left. **“Fast-forwarding memory to a more recent one,”** the mechanical voice said. I swayed on my feet as the emotions rushing through my body faded down to a quiet simmer, and felt relieved that I was no longer drowning in Altaïr. “What the hell,” I muttered quietly as my surroundings began to resolve into distinguishable surroundings.

There were several sharp beeps, and my vision filled with all of the little widgets that would help me navigate through Altaïr’s world. It was so much more overwhelming now than it had been on a screen, and I couldn’t figure out where to look. Over the balcony, where I could see assassins running towards the village? The saving icon at the bottom, no doubt ensuring that the section I had just gone through was safely saved onto Lucy’s computer? The flashing and beeping red triangle in the upper right corner, the warning that the enemy would be on high alert and looking for me? The actions I could take, set in their low-profile mode as I struggled to slow down and think? Or should I look at the empty map in the bottom of my vision, utterly useless as I tried to orient myself?

I waited for my head to stop spinning, for the brightness to fade away entirely, for the emotions to quiet down once more, for the things I was seeing to suddenly make sense. Nothing did.  People rushed around on the ground before me, swarming as they dashed through the courtyard and out of the gate and into the village proper. I turned and began running, heading to follow the flow of people to the fights below.

Although my head was aching with the emotions pounding through my heart, my body pulsed with adrenaline and I prepared myself for battle. Or, at least, I tried to prepare myself for battle. _Come on, Ann! You’re about to face your first fight – the earlier assassinations don’t count. You can worry about Malik and Al Mualim later; you know what will happen, and you need to get your head in the game!_ Forcefully pulling myself together, I resumed running and reached the crossroad into town.

I paused as people darted across my path, heading to the courtyard rather than to the village. I paused, knowing that no matter how long I lingered, I would not arrive late to the battle. Lying in front of me, on the other side of the crossroad, was an assassin in grey crumbled on the ground. I hesitantly stepped closer, trying to see if he was alright. _The grey means he isn’t a full assassin yet, right?_ As I approached, I noticed a pool of red liquid underneath his torso. The apprentice assassin was unmoving, and a figure had her head raised in a silent scream as she knelt behind the body. The woman – _at least, I think it’s a woman –_ was being held by the assassin beside her. _Are these his parents? Is… he dead?_

I stood for several moments more as the figure at my feet refused to move, and then turned to face the courtyard. I swallowed as I slowly began moving forward, taking in the devastated figures surrounding me. There was an assassin, crouching down as another bent before him to help. There was another assassin, in a black overcoat as he lay alone on the dirt. There was a villager, head bent as he either said a silent prayer or begged for the mercy of God. There was another assassin lying spread-eagle on the dirt, with one of his brothers apparently giving him CPR. _It’s either that, or leaning back and forth as he sobs with grief; I’m going to convince myself that he’s just doing CPR, whether they actually know it in this time period, because that means he might survive. He might survive._

I couldn’t hear anything as I paced through the courtyard, my ears filled with a strange humming and deafened by the sound of harsh drums. I broke and ran for several steps, only slowing when I passed more bodies before breaking into another run. As I made it halfway through the loop, there was a relatively clear section where I could run without worrying about accidently stepping on someone _or their dead body_. I stopped once more when I came to another section of clear land, empty but for the line of bodies with none beside them.

I ran again, not stopping this time even as bile heaved in my throat. I should never have looked; I knew what was here - I always paid homage to the assassins that had fallen, even when they were only pixels on the screen. But now I could smell the stench of blood and death in the air, feel the heavy pressure from the people in despair surrounding me, and I could only be thankful that I still wasn’t processing sounds correctly. I broke free of the circle around the training ring, no longer delaying and heading straight for the portcullis gate.

Light flashed as I passed through the entryway, and my steps slowed to a stop without my consent. Another man was racing up the hill, and I was ready to follow him back to the fighting. “Altaïr!” he cried out in a breathless voice – likely from fighting and then running up a mountain. “It’s good you’ve come. We need your help.” He had calmed since he began speaking, as if my being there would solve all the problems.

I flinched back at the thought even as Altaïr spoke through my – _his? –_ mouth. “What’s happened?”

The other assassin – _is that Rauf? Or is this somebody else, another assassin whom Altaïr would listen to –_ sounded disgusted as he answered, “Templars.” He turned and motioned back, pointing at the village ahead. “They attacked the village. Most of our people were able to get away.” He paused, looked down, and then looked back at me as he repeated the one damning word in that sentence: “most, but not all.” My mind flashed back to the bodies I had just seen, and anger filled my heart as I thought of the lives lost. Altaïr’s anger seemed to sense my own and fed it, kept it burning where it normally would have only lingered for minutes at most.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked, prepared to go and wipe out the threat. I clenched my fists as I forced myself to wait for his response, knowing what I needed to do, that I needed to go forth and wipe out the Templars invading Masyaf.

The assassin from the village, who I was now fairly sure was Rauf, responded quickly. “Distract the Templars. Keep them occupied while I rescue those still trapped inside.” There was satisfaction in his tone, and I could only guess on whether he was imagining saving those trapped or the consequences of my ‘distraction’.

“As you wish,” I agreed in a deadly tone. A pale blue light flared once more, and I was finally freed to move. Anger still boiling in my veins, I began running down the path I had followed up only minutes before. A quick flick of my wrist verified that my new hidden blade was working, and glee shot through me. I was armed, dangerous, and ready to stop the invaders.

I mentally drew back as I passed a woman leaning against the wall for support, and tried to center my mind with little success. If I enjoyed the kills now, which Altaïr’s emotions were begging me to do, it would haunt my nightmares forever more. With a grimace, I felt my anger die down even as my anticipation remained high. _Well,_ I thought, _let’s see what I can do._

I was interrupted – something I was slightly grateful for – by a popup on the cave wall. _No, it’s not on the wall; it’s at the edge of my vision._ It was another piece of the tutorial provided by Abstergo, detailing the weapons available to me. **Hidden Blade, Fists, Throwing Knives, Sword** , the list read. Below was an instruction to, **Select your sword.** I was frozen mid-step as the machine waited for me to select my sword. _How am I even supposed to do that?_ I thought about using the sword, shifting my planned tactics from ambushing the enemy with my hidden blade to striking out with my sword. I mentally checked on my sword, verifying that it was still a comforting weight thumping against my side.

Suddenly I was in motion again, and I ended up tripping down the last few stairs and ending up on my face against the harsh ground. _Ow. Okay, really ow. Do not trip down a mountain when running, even if crazy Templars are forcing a machine to speak to you and freeze up your movements. Lesson duly noted, now can the synch bar refill before I go out to fight?_ I stood with a grimace as I looked at the injured pair I had landed in front of. I paused at the split in the path before me – should I take the shortcut to the left, or run calmly down the actual path on the right? Although I normally jumped down the cliffside in the game, I wasn’t going to enter my first fight off-balance from the likely painful and disorienting jump.

I rounded the curve in the path and came upon the sight of my first battle, more bodies littering the ground several yards as people fought above them. I almost screamed in frustration as my body was once again halted without my consent. _I hate it when they force me to move! I could stand it the first time, disliked it the second, but I’m well on my way to despising it now! I can understand when it is Altaïr taking over because that’s what his body wants to do, but I hate it when it’s the Templars who have control over me!_

I forced myself to take the opportunity to look around, even as my arm pulled my sword from its sheathe. There was an assassin with a black over-cloak running towards me, and the nearest Templar seemed to be following his movements. “Assassin!” the Templar screamed. “You won’t get away!” Had they just been fighting before the assassin noticed me and fled for cover?

I still couldn’t control my body, so I wasn’t terribly surprised when another notice popped up in the ‘guidance’ corner of my vision. **LOCK TO FIGHT; Focus to enter and exit fight mode.** The Templar that was chasing the assassin had drawn within my range before the world froze, and was highlighted in a light blue color. I narrowed my eyes slightly and prepared myself to fight him. This time I was ready when the world blurred by once more, people resuming running frantically as the Templar I was facing drew closer.

My opponent now had a small triangle pointing towards his head, verifying that I was locked onto him. I stepped forward, ignoring the new popup even as I began swinging my blade at the intruder. I leapt forward with a giant overhead slice, which the Templar lackey managed to see and counter. He was knocked back several steps, staggering backwards even as I followed through with another blow. He barely managed to block me, and I attacked once more before he could recover. My blade bit into the flesh below his sword arm, slicing upwards and ripping open his chest. My opponent fell backwards a final time, crumpling into a dead heap on the floor even as his body gave off a faint blue shimmer.

The sound of screaming filled my ears as I stared down at the dead body. _I… I just slaughtered him, in less than five seconds, and I’m going to do this again. I’m going to do it again in another five seconds, and I’ll do it again and again until Masyaf is free, and then I’ll do it hundreds more times until the Assassins are free, and then thousands more times until I’ve worked my way through generations and generations of memories._ “You won’t get away from me!” The shout was harsh and angry, and was quickly followed by a woman’s screams.

Pulled back into the fight, I dashed towards my next target – _my next victim_ – and once more attacked before he could even begin to mount a defense. I hacked, and slashed, and forced forward until he too failed to block and then there was another body falling at my feet. I froze as another body fell moments after, an Assassin I hadn’t moved quickly enough to save. **Enter a defensive stance to deflect blows.** I followed the computers commands in a daze, watching with empty eyes as the killer stepped over his fallen enemy and attacked me. I blocked his blow automatically, and the force ringing through my arm forced me back into motion.

My eyes were stuck on the visage of my current foe, and I watched as he seemed to hesitate. He pulled back, his sword rising as he began a strike from his right side. I waited, sword held high, watching for the right moment to move and then – his sword was coming down and I caught it with my blade, twirling expertly and forcing his sword back to his side and leaving his chest completely open. I took advantage of this and drove my sword clear through his chest, the sword sliding beneath the ribs, piercing his heart, and then exiting through his back. I heaved upwards, jerking the already dying man up before drawing my blade back and out as he collapsed.

I was already turning away as he fell on his fallen ally and the corpse trapped beneath him, creating a small pile of dead bodies. There was still people screaming, a dull, meaningless roar that wasn’t being processed properly, just shoved aside until I decided to focus on the voiceless shouts. One shout managed to rise above the rest, and forcibly redirected my attention forwards. “There he is!” There were two Templars approaching me at a run, ready to kill yet another assassin.

A grim smile crossed my lips as I stepped to meet them… and I accidently swung at empty air. _Whoa, definitely not close enough – there we go, how about NOW!_ I lunged forward despite my misstep, forcing one down the hill. Even as he blocked and I forced him farther again and again, I kept a careful eye on his partner out of the corner of my eye. The other Templar seemed happy to watch his friend die, not attacking but only moving closer when I stepped away from him.

I carefully lashed out with my fourth blow, the enemy’s stance entirely broken, but I had to watch out for the civilians that were suddenly flooding past. I nearly sliced the idiot that ran in front of me, but the Animus refused to let my sword damage anyone other than my target. _Thank you, crappy damage calculator. I owe you a peaceful nights rest._ As the last two people dashed past, one an assassin _was he guarding them or running away_ , I turned back to face the other assailant.

I braced my muscles, finally obliging the Animus’ advice on the side. **Preform a slower but stronger attack by concentrating on your attack for a longer period of time. Release your attack, and repeat.** I performed the power slash; ‘charging’ up my sword by winding up and getting into a stronger but far more open and obvious stance. This would have been a prime time for the enemy to strike while I was open, but the two people between us prevented his attack. I was already moving forward when the two were finally out of the way, and I hammered my sword into the Templar.

He was knocked back several steps and completely open, but I wasn’t prepared to strike immediately. I ended up almost staggering as well, startled by the pure force behind the blow. By the time I had recovered and began pressing my advantage, my opponent had recovered and said advantage was negligible. _Attack, attack, break guard, and STRIKE!_ My fourth blow was again the killer, and sent the body spinning away from me. His dying breath came out as a gurgled shout and I could only imagine the blood filling his lungs, clogging his throat as he died.

I watched as his body fell upon the pile of bodies I helped create, now a mound of four corpses. Three Templars, all slain by my hand, and an Assassin below them all that I had failed to save. _His death was scripted,_ I tried to convince myself. _There was nothing I could do, nothing I could have done to change this._ I failed to convince myself with meaningless platitudes and instead turned to face the road once more. There was another gaggle of people running past, and I waited for them to pass before moving.

I could have run around them, started moving while still avoiding them, but seeing them just made me feel tired. It also made me feel angry, indignant, and a little hopeless, but mostly just… tired. Seeing no end to the flow, I convinced myself to move. _You’re fighting for them, remember? You need to distract – AKA kill – the Templars attacking them. You need to get a move on, because you just saw the initialization for this area and that means the Templars have started to slaughter the people you aren’t quick enough to save._

Walking forward, I forced myself into a run and proceeded down the mountain, heading into the panic and fighting the bustling crowd to reach the true enemies. I bit back my panic at being surrounded in this frenzied rush, especially by such frightened creatures, but I refused to let my minor phobias stop me from moving forward. Trying to skirt the edges of the crowd, I made it to the edge of the village and began scanning the area for Templars to destroy.

There was a man in a white jerkin, moving almost lazily in a trees shadow. He was circling something, and as I drew closer I saw that it was two women begging on their knees. My emotional exhaustion fled in the force of the anger that rose, and I was instantly focused on fighting and ridding the world of this one man. His cry of “Die, heathen!” did nothing to soothe my ire.

I moved closer, my sword already posed to strike as I approached. He drew his own sword, and the woman took advantage of his distraction to begin running. _Good._ I sliced forwards, and then again, but I could already feel that I wasn’t doing as well as before. My haste and my anger were driving me to strike at the wrong moments, and he worthless wretch before me was able to block my blows. I growled in frustration as I failed to break his guard, and swung out in fury once more. He kept his guard up as I drove him back further and further, but it wouldn’t matter if I managed to send him over the cliff. Barely controlling my blows, I finally chained enough attacks together to break his guard and instantly moved in for the kill.

His body was sent flying to the ground, equidistant from the cliff, the tree, and the house. I was already running for the next fight as I considered kicking him over the edge of the cliff. _Probably would have hurt someone standing below if I had._ I was starting down the path when a blur of white caught in the corner of my eye and I spun around, only to meet the sight of another Templar. Still angry but once again in control, I struck out before he could recover from his failed sneak attack.

Back and back he tripped, until we were both stepping over the man I had just killed and bile rose in my throat as I stepped on his leg and then both men were dead and I just stood there and – _breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, now come on, I need to keep moving!_ I forced myself to move away, now seeing two piles of dead men in my mind as I walked down the street.

 **Reinitializing,** the Animus declared from the side of my vision. Even though the frenzy of people continued racing past, the frantic music that had been accompanying me slowed to the normal sounds of Masyaf. It was odd, hearing the gentle chimes just below the screams of fleeing people, but I took it as a sign that I could move slowly for just a few moments, to try and recover even as I headed toward the next fight.

More and more assassins were part of the crowd now; _maybe they’ve evacuated the majority of the civilians already?_ I couldn’t help but feel vaguely resentful. Why couldn’t these people help attack the Templars? They were assassins, trained for nearly all their lives specifically to do that very act! Then I remembered the bodies littering the dry ground, as many assassins as there were Templars, and I suddenly found the will to begin running once more.

There was a woman, crying in the street. She was on her knees, people flowing around her as she wept. I wanted to scream at her to get up, to get to safety, but she wasn’t moving. I stopped before her and tried to pull her up, but the Animus refused to let me and the woman refused to move. All I could do was keep going, take out any Templars that were ahead and hope she wasn’t trampled in Masyaf’s retreat. I rounded the corner at a run, bumping lightly a fleeing assassin, but I kept my balance and kept moving.

“Assassin!” came a furious yell from yet another Templar. The brute was instantly highlighted in blue, and I saw only him, the nearly empty space between us, and the dead assassin lying on said ground. I started to dash towards him, forced to spin and dodge as a civilian construct nearly slammed into me by accident. Disoriented, I slowed and approached carefully, blade held lightly at my side as I moved to step around the body.

Suddenly there was pain burning down my side and I cried out, staggering away from the source and realizing that I had become too distracted. The Templar was moving in for another blow and I wasn’t ready and I staggered back, trying to get my blade up but there was suddenly another shock of pain and I distantly noticed that the bottom row of the synch bar was entirely black even as my vision blurred once more with red pain.

The confidence that I could handle myself in battle, thanks to Altaïr’s instincts and the Animus’ mainframe, was quickly dying away. Feeling sick with both disgust _and_ worry now, I managed to block my attacker’s next few blows. Moving my sword from my high block directly into an attack, I managed to switch to offensive and it was now the other falling back, damaged by the might of my swords blows. With a final slash, I brought my sword hurtling down through the air and into his shoulder, biting into his neck as the nearly vertical cut sent his body crashing to the floor. _Ha – I actually knew that attack, thank you swords class at Nerd Fitness Camp!_

My confidence began to return and a smirk stretched across my face. I might be hurt, but it was my attackers that would die. I noted the **Reinitializing** as I followed the hill down closer to the entrance, idly noting the music change once more. _I think I like still having the music as an accurate warning of what threat level I’m currently in… if I remember to notice the change._ I grimaced at the sight of even more assassin bodies littering the hill, and I looked up to find that I could see the entry gates. Smoke covered the grounds, obscuring the buildings, but the wooden palisades managed to rise above the smog.

I continued forward, noting that the last of the people had just run past me. There were several sets of assassins and Templars fighting, neither giving nor taking any ground. Suddenly the world was lit with a blue flash that disappeared as quickly as it came, and Templars were falling to the ground as the assassins turned to run.

A shout rang out, clearer than any words had been since I left Al Mualim’s study area. “Break off the attack and return to Masyaf! Al Mualim commands it!” I was frozen in place as my view began spiraling out, and I could suddenly see both my unstained body and the crowd of Templars forcing their way through the abandoned gates. A white light bloomed and I closed my eyes, already knowing what was coming next. Relief fueled my systems as I realized that the fighting was done, if only for a moment.

My part in this battle was yet to be finished, but enough enemies had died by my blade already. I could have a moment to think, a moment were it wasn’t a constant flurry of react, react, react. The mechanical voice broke in, and I was ready for the sensation of change. “ **Fast-forwarding memory to a more recent one.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’m done. I promised action in this chapter, and I delivered. I promised soon, and I managed a month and an hour. Hopefully I didn’t promise anything else, because I can’t really think that clearly right now, and that might be showing in my writing. I wanted to get this out before the 12th of December, and I missed my self-imposed deadline by 45 minutes. I’ll go back through and fix it up tomorrow, but for now, here’s the first edition of my new chapter.  
> I’m… not entirely happy about how the talk in Al Mualim’s place went. (Is that area an alcove, balcony, study room, private-yet-completely-exposed workspace? What should I even call it?) I think it went fairly well, but I also think I could have done better and that some of the placement was awkward.  
> Please let me know how my very first fight scenes worked out! I’m so glad they came pre-choreographed… I have my gameplay of AC recorded, and I’m pulling directly from that. Considering the fact that the recorded session was played with this story in mind, I think that’s alright – advisable, even. I’m thinking about putting it up on YouTube, so you can listen/watch as you read. Should I just post the video as is, with only the gameplay and no narration from me? Should I record a voiceover where my thoughts occur- never mind, that’s probably a horrible idea.  
> Ha! Here’s a longer chapter to make up for my last, shorter one. I don’t really hold any preference to the title I picked for this chapter, but that’s what came to mind, and that’s what it’s stuck as unless someone else gives me a better idea. I managed to hammer out 5/6 of this chapter today, instead of working on my final report. A report that was due 45 minutes ago, a report that I ignored entirely in favor of this, and a report that counts as a fairly large percentage of my grade. It’s not just you guys I’m accidently missing deadlines for!  
> I better end the author’s note here, but I talk more when I get tired, and I just remembered what else I was going to ask. (Curse my no-erasing mentality – you are stuck with this stupidly long Author’s Note forevermore, throughout any chapter rewrites!) Ann. I finally said her name out plainly. Yes, I delayed calling it out because it’s part of my username. Yes, it’s part of my name. Yes, Ann is still an analog standing in my place, reacting as I would truly react. Yes, I really did learn that sword movement at an adult’s geek summer camp. I actually started learning the basics of parkour, but I really need to lose weight and increase my body strength before I can do anything more basic than jump from section to section and vault over half-walls.
> 
> I finally found out why incredible pain had been plaguing me for the past half-year, and I had gallbladder surgery last month. I had planned on writing while I recovered, but that didn’t work out so well. I’ve healed rather nicely…ish… and hopefully I’m back in business!  
> Published: December 12, 2014  
> Last Updated: December 12, 2014  
> Words w/o A/N: 6,868  
> Words w/ A/N: 7,540


	7. Flying Off the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight in Masyaf proper is over - the Templars have trapped the Assassins into a siege...apparently. Really, the assassins don't need to worry, they've got plans for this sort of thing.  
> Now, on the other hand, I have to worry about my first leap of faith and maneuvering along over treacherous drops via tiny wooden boards, and climbing tall buildings in a single bound. I don't think my own strength is going to be enough for this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N ….There’s a bunch of Altaïr goodness in the last third of the chapter. Does that count as an apology or apologetic gesture for the long wait? Or at least count towards making you less angry/annoyed/exasperated?

As the world faded to white and back, the first thing I noticed was something ramming into my shoulder and knocking me forward, another hit forcing me farther off balance and away from the gate I was suddenly standing under. Disoriented by the unexpected force, I watched as a clump of other assassins swarmed past me. _Oh. That explains the shoving, then._ I followed them, moving forward until I could see the training yard. _There’s even more people here now than before…_

I slowly walked towards the center, the area bustling with movement, but no energy. The lifeless bodies on the ground seemed to be draining the strength of many so that they could only weep and cry to the heavens. There were more of the lifeless than before, but also more mourners, filling the area with the force of their grief. Some of the assassins looked angry, ready to throw themselves at the ones who had stolen these lives regardless of further personal cost, but none made any motion to disobey Al Mualim and return to the fighting before he commanded.

I only realized that I had stopped walking when I was already turning around, unwilling and unable to move further into that quagmire of pain. Shame rose within me as I turned my back on the suffering, but I didn’t need any more nightmare fodder – I didn’t need to have more innocent bodies, bloodied and broken, seared into my mind. I turned back around for a moment, meaning to force myself to once more pay homage to the sacrifices the assassins had made, but I turned away once more at the sight of so much pain. Swallowing heavily, I forced myself to begin moving again, turning back on the path up towards the castle. I stopped just before the next split in the road, casting a look down and to my left, just briefly glancing over the fence to the chaotic misery below.

I was even quicker to turn away this time, as the first thing that had caught my eye was the long line of dead assassins without any mourners. _I don’t know if that’s worse that they had nobody to grieve for them and died for Masyaf anyways, or better that there would be no one forced to grieve them and live with the pain._ I forcefully cast my gaze forward and took another step closer to the fortress, another step away from the scene below.

 “Altaïr! Come,” a breathless voice cried out from above. I stopped and jerked towards the sound, distracted by the voice that I had already known would be coming. “Al Mualim’s not done with us yet,” the hidden speaker said. I turned to look at the voice’s origins, and found myself staring up at the ‘second’ floor balcony of a tower. I squinted in the hazy light, and I could make out the speaker more clearly.

It was an assassin, of course, in a dark-grey tunic rather than the robes most others were wearing. _Rauf? Is that you again?_ I called back up to him, my voice low but still strong enough to cut through the air and reach him. “Where are we going?” I couldn’t raise my voice, not for the shout that would have normally been needed to speak across such a distance. The pain in my heart was too heavy, and it weighed down my words. The anger burnt brightly, screaming at the fact that invaders had intruded into our home – my territory. The stone of guilt had settled in my chest – there was naught I could do but bear it. If the Master had called for my aid, even after my failure, than I would do all that was within my power to complete his task.

“Up there,” Rauf called while gesturing towards the top of the tower he was standing on. “We’ve a surprise planned for our guests.” There was that satisfaction in his tone again, and I knew that no matter what this ‘surprise’ was, the recipients of this gift would not be pleased. “Just do as I do. It should become clear, soon enough.”

I was already moving by the time he had finished talking, heading unerringly for the ladder set against the side of the building. There was another assassin standing guard at the bottom, but I paid him no heed as I began to rush up the wooden rungs. In my haste to reach Rauf and complete Al Mualim’s new task, I leaped up the ladder two steps at a time. When I reached the balcony, it was already empty, and I moved inside to find Rauf. From the corner of my eye as I hurried by, I caught sight of a large gathering of assassins on the castles walls, with Al Mualim at its head.

I had no time to pay them any mind, as Rauf had indeed been waiting inside and was already darting up another ladder. I followed his lead, once more flying up two rungs at once in a single bound. As I crested the ladder, I heard the fluttering of wings as birds were chased off of their perches. I had arrived in a room open to the outside – where a wall would have been, there were instead a series of arches that led to a number of platforms extending over the edge of the building. There was an assassin already waiting on the leftmost platform; probably-Rauf was just moving to the one in the middle. The one on the right was empty, waiting for one more assassin to complete the set.

I couldn’t tell whether the fluttering in my stomach was from excitement or nervousness; it was similar to the feeling as you’re riding a roller coaster. When you’re going up the chain lift, you can see just how high you are, just how far you have to fall. The tension eats away, but just as strong is the excitement that climbs with the height. Then, there’s the moment at the top, when there’s nothing you can do – the ride can no longer be stopped, you’ve reached the peak – and there’s a single moment of complete acceptance, no fear or excitement, just anticipation, before it’s replaced with the sheer thrill of flying down at speeds greater than ever before. …I was heading for that moment of peace, but now – no, now I was still being dragged ever upwards on the chain lift of nervousness and excitement.

_Oh holy – oh holy – okay. Okay, I can see the tops of nearby mountains from here but not the ground below and oh God, I am so glad I’m not afraid of heights or I would be having a panic attack right now. …I love heights, and if I wasn’t about to plunge down the side of the mountain I would probably adore the view, but I am afraid of falling and holy shi- I’m about to make my first Leap of Faith from at least a 100 foot high ledge, if not higher. How high is this? Is it 50 feet, 100 feet, 200 feet, or even more? Okay. Okay, calm, composed, calm – why are there are words on my left, what has the Animus got to say_ now?

**Ancestor’s memory synchronized; now recording…** These words were not comforting; these words meant that something important was about to go down that Abstergo wanted a really good look at. These words meant that the memory was about to start, that I was about to launch myself headfirst off a building and down a _freaking mountain cliffside._ Rauf’s voice soon penetrated my thoughts, breaking me free of my downward spiral of panic. “Stand on that platform, Altaïr.”

Suddenly, all of my fear was gone, and excitement and anticipation stole its place. I strode forward calmly, onto the fragile wooden strut jutting over the edge of the mountainside. Straight ahead, I could see the mountains far away, a deep valley just in line with my vision. The wood creaked as I placed my first booted foot forward, barely audible over the sound of feathers as a collection of birds flew away. I noticed that they had left a rather large pile of bird droppings, staining the wood white and causing the straw they had been sitting on to lump in odd places. _It’s safe to make a leap of faith._

As I moved onto the middle of the platform, my sight blurred oddly, blue hexagons flying across my vision. _A glitch – finally, I’d been wondering where they all went._ I let my vision change with the glitches, ceding some control to the computer that was the driving force behind what I was viewing. Suddenly, with no movement on my part, I was seeing Roberts face mere feet away, his army scattered behind him. My stomach lurched slightly – not from the height, but from the fear that I had somehow fallen to get this close. Swallowing back a brief wave of nausea, I told my feet that they had better not move an inch while I was unaware of where such a step would leave me.

My attention was drawn back to Robert – not that the sight had changed in any way, despite my brief mental flailing – when he started shouting.   “Heretic! Return what you have stolen from me.” The men behind him, erratic rows and rows of people in grey tunics, waved their arms and seemed to be shouting in agreement. Robert’s horse flicked it’s head up momentarily, ears twitching as it responded to its masters anger.

“You’ve no claim to it, Robert!” My stomach churned as my vision changed once more, but thankfully, slightly less violently as it was slowly growing used to these disorienting changes. Now I was staring at the battlements, seeing the fort walls, and both armies in their entirety. I could see the assassins standing above the gate, and the slightly darker figure among them could only have been Al Mualim, the one who had shouted in reply to Robert’s angry demands. I could see his little army as well, clustered near the bottom of my vision. With another lurch, I realized that I could see myself and the other assassins, all ready to throw ourselves down the side of the mountain.

My view shifted once more, until I had a rather good view of Al Mualim and myself both. I took a single step forward, watching myself move from third person and being torn between worry and awe. _I don’t know whether this 3 rd person view from a distance is more cool or more scary – I can’t see whether I’m about to step off the edge, yet at the same time, I can._ “Take yourself from here before I’m forced to clean your ranks further!” I automatically turned to the source of the voice, watching my body – Altaïr’s body – turn to face Al Mualim from my place above the rest.

“You play a dangerous game!” I shifted back to face Robert once more, and the glitches flashed through my vision once again. _What, like my view isn’t weird enough?_ I once more let myself consciously follow into the new view, and found myself facing Al Mualim up close and personal. His assassins were arrayed out behind him, an assembly of hooded shadows. They’re number was far less than that of Robert’s army – a clear demonstration of quality over quantity. There was only one face uncovered, and it stood just to the right of the Master. I knew of only 3 assassins that went so uncovered – Rauf, Malik, and _Abbas._ This figure could only be the last, and I felt a tiny wave of recognition that confirmed that this was indeed who I thought it was. Gritting my teeth in anger – _am I honestly madder at this snake when he isn’t doing anything than at Robert, how leads an army at the foot of Masyaf’s gates? –_ I turned my focus back to Al Mualim.

He shook his head, motioning with his arms as the rest of my fellow assassins stood silently behind him. “I assure you, this is no game.” His arms flew out as he stared forward with grim determination, as if to cut off the idea that he was not taking this seriously before it could develop any farther. I grimly thought to myself of what must be flying between the two of them – what seemed like a standard discussion between two enemies, was in truth, something entirely different.

I wobbled slightly as my vision returned to normal, only to find myself staring down at the furious figure of Robert over the edge of my platform. He gestured furiously, arm waving above his head and shaking at Al Mualim. “So be it! Bring forth the hostage!” There was suddenly an ominous sound to accompany the jingle of the horses armor, and I tried furiously to remember what was about to happen. _I can’t remember but –_

The glitches flashed across my vision once more, and I eagerly chased them, trying to get a closer look at what was about to happen. I stopped breathing as I realized that his men were shoving an assassin forward, someone I must have overlooked in my short glimpse of Robert’s troops. He was shoved forward, staggering with his hands tied behind his back, when –

A blade was abruptly shoved through his chest, the man crumpling with little fanfare. His dying groan was buried behind the sound of steel as he slumped to the ground, lifeless. I suddenly remembered I needed to breathe as I found myself choking in horror – and for lack of oxygen, having not started breathing again until they ad startled me into intaking air once more.

I heard the squelch of blood and muscle as he fell, my vision normalizing once more. I almost wished I hadn’t followed the glitch – but it was better to know, to acknowledge him and see just what Robert would do. I could see the late assassin, pale grey and startling white against the dull brown of the ground. My attention was jerked away from the fallen figure when Robert began shouting once more. _Will you just shut up and go away, you – you Templar!_ “You’re village lays in ruins, and your stores are hardly endless! How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain, when they’re wells run dry and they’re food is gone?” He planned to lay siege to Masyaf, to hole us inside the castle walls as we slowly starved to death, unable to reach outside as he guarded the only entrance – and exit – to the castle. _Clearly he’s forgotten that true assassin’s never take the front door, or the obvious path, as long as there’s another way to parkour around!_

“My men do not fear death, Robert, my men welcome it, and the rewards it brings!” Al Mualim proclaimed grandly as my view shifted once again. I now had a marvelous view of the drop to come – oh, and of the two armies in the background, as small as ants from this height. I could barely see the piles of hay below, my only hope for a safe landing hundreds of feet below. _I might not welcome death, but I’m about to welcome my jump to it just to get away from you two!_ My excitement was building back once more, as I sensed the two’s discussion was drawing to a close.

“Good! Then they shall have it all around!” Robert called back as my view spiraled outwards, giving me a new, great view of the height. I couldn’t see the ground at all, save for the section holding Robert and his men. Every moment was dragging out like a thousand, each sentence multiplied until it felt like I had been listening to the two Grand Masters for an eternity. I gladly followed the next glitch, anticipation growing higher still.

I was suddenly facing Rauf, perched on the very edge of his platform. “Follow me, and do so without hesitation.” Excitement and nervousness unfurled in my stomach, and I knew it was almost time. _I’m ready. No hesitation, no freezing in fear, no stumbling off the edge – I’m going to fly._

My pulse pounding in my throat, I saw Al Mualim once more, as he unfurled a hand to the crowd below. “Show these fool knight what it is to have no fear!” Like a grandmaster before a crowd, he turned to face us up on the ledge, gesturing grandly as he made a powerful statement to the men below. He raised his hand in the air, a benediction, a command. “Go to God!”

Chimes were sounding, words had appeared in the corner of my vision, I was finally seeing normally again, and _I was going to jump._ My heart flying with my feet, I dashed forward, lifting off from the ground as I jumped for the sky, spreading my arms as if I was embracing the air. As an eagle cried out, I could see my fellow assassins diving beside me, a synchronized leap to the sure death awaiting us below. The wind was tearing at my clothes as I fell – no, as I leapt, a controlled flight as my body instinctively began twisting, turning, until I’d done a complete somersault in the air and suddenly I was staring up at the sky, arms and legs trailing upwards like string as I fell. Glee filled me as I took in the utter freedom of the moment, nothing holding me down, nothing holding me up, hurtling towards the ground below but I would be fine, I would survive, my first leap taken with Altaïr a success and I felt the freedom –

I could feel Altaïr, his emotions aligning with my own, the same thrill as we flew, as we soared, as we tore through the air in our controlled dive, nothing but the precise control over our body and the hay below that would save us from what would otherwise only ever have ended in death. The elation twinned between us both, growing as we fell, the emotion that always drove me to laugh in jubilation contained tightly within our shared body. My soul was screaming out, in freedom, in exaltation, and this was wonderful and heartbreaking because this trip was about to end, the moment could only hang frozen for so long as reality blurred past. The ground was approaching, and the height that had intimidated me only moments before suddenly didn’t seem high enough.

I landed roughly in the hay, my world spinning and shaking as I crushed the fragile strands beneath my gravity-assisted mass. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as I was suddenly brought crashing back down to Earth. I stared at the golden hay above me, already settled to cover my body once more, when a scream suddenly broke me from my reverie.

I stepped from my haystack at the sound of anguish wailing, hearing the crunching from myself and Rauf as we stepped closer to the sound of the screaming. “Aiiyaa-haa! Oh, my leg! Argh, ahh! Oh, my leg!” The other assassin had not landed as safely as we had. His agony brought an end to my high, but even his cut off cries of pain could not dampen the excitement I had just felt, nor cut off the adrenaline shooting through my borrowed body like a rocket.

“Quiet,” Rauf bade to the man as I moved closer. He was already bent over the assassin, one hand on his leg as he spoke, “or the Templars will hear us.” I could see the man’s leg – it was bent back underneath him at an odd angle, as he weighed heavily on his other knee. He groaned as Rauf reached for the out-of-place limb, trying valiantly to quiet himself despite the intense pain he had to be in.

All I could do was stand helplessly as Rauf felt at the leg, before drawing it sharply forward, the man cutting off a scream as it was jerked back into place. There was a sickening crack, and the man’s head rolled wildly before suddenly falling slack, and I worried that he had passed out. _At least now he can’t feel it anymore._ I could instantly tell I was wrong, as he began groaning as Raoul traced a hand up his leg, likely feeling for breaks or fractures in the bone. The man limply held his leg, and satisfied that there was no immediate danger, Raoul turned to face me.

“I’ll stay behind and tend to him; you’ll have to go ahead without us. The ropes there,” he gestured, “will bring you to a trap we’ve set. Go and release it. Rain death upon our enemies!” I was already walking as he finished his command, looking away from the injured pair. I finally paid attention the words on my left that had been flashing for who-knows-how-long.

**Beams; move forward to walk on beams. It is easier in LOW PROFILE.** I mentally scowled at the words. _Thanks for telling me nothing I didn’t already know._ I walked to the edge of the cliff, the flag denoting the beam I needed to cross right beside ‘my’ bale of hay. I didn’t let myself look down as I started forward. The beams never fell in the games, and I had never fallen off of them. _Well, not off these pieces of wood, at least._ This was entirely different from the leap of faith – I rarely, _rarely_ ever missed a leap of faith – fumbling off of the edge of something was a _little_ more common.

I walked forward, only as soon as I stepped onto the beam, I wasn’t walking anymore. No, now I was moving in a hunched position, but I couldn’t let that stop me – if I didn’t keep moving, I might freeze in the middle of the ‘bridge’ and be stuck here until – _KEEP. MOVING._ Suddenly I couldn’t take it, I wanted back on land, and I was dashing forward with my arms outstretched for balance until suddenly I was back on beautiful terra firma. I paused a moment just to give thanks to Altaïr for my balance, and to the ground for not trying to leap out from beneath my feet.

All too soon, I was moving again, heading forward on a treacherous path I knew very well. _Three sets of beams, a climb up the tower, and then the releasing of the trap. Thank you, self, for constantly restarting the game so that I now know quite well what to expect. …The important or superficial bits, at least._ At the very least, I knew which way to go, so I forced myself to clamber up the solid earth wall to my right. Now, if I mistepped, I would go flying off into the deep valley only feet away. This time, though, there would be no bale of hay to catch me if I fell.

Running forward as soon as I had my feet back under me again, I dashed for the next wooden beam, pausing only long enough to be sure that I was aligned correctly. I kept my eyes straight ahead as I moved across the beam, focusing on the cliff in front of me. As I stepped on the solid ground and up the nearby ‘step’, I convinced myself that I didn’t need to run. Hadn’t I just proven I could do this? Wasn’t it more dangerous to run?

I forced myself to approach this next bridge slowly, noticing that this last beam had been buried into the ground. _Well, that explains why it didn’t shake or come loose._ I once more stepped onto the narrow wood, walking slowly forward in my crouched position. _Come on, you used to walk across thinner beams when you were younger, back when you did gymnastics!_ I tried to psych myself up. It didn’t work – the last time I had done gym was over a decade ago, when I was around 5 or 7. Now, if I tried to walk across wooden beams, I was more likely to fall _(into barbed wire, ripping open my leg and jeans both)_. I forced myself to slow back down, having broken into an unwise run sometime in my panic.

I managed to step calmly off the edge of the ‘bridge’, straightening back up as I looked up at the last leg of my journey. _Oh, this is going to be such_ fun _… really._ My view pulled back and I was once again watching in third person, my vision slowly travelling up the tall and narrow tower in front of me. I tried desperately to track the best path to climb as I watched the structure grow before me, trying not to imagine myself barely clinging onto the narrow protrusions.

Unfortunately, I failed in that endeavor. I could quite clearly imagine climbing the tower and falling, as many images of doing just that in the past crossed my mind. Ezio, the next Assassin whose life I would relive, had the extreme tendency to jump off of tall towers when I was only trying to get him to climb higher, often falling to his death. _Ooooooh, boy._ When my vision cleared of these disturbing images, white bodies crumpled on the ground as red bled across the screen, I found myself still standing at the foot of the tower.

_I guess there’s nothing for it._ In all honesty, it wasn’t that different than the wall I had climbed earlier today – _was it really just today? -_  except that that if I fell, I would die, and that the jumps weren’t half as uniform. I would have to launch myself backwards to reach some of the platforms, and that _still_ made my heart lurch even when I was playing.

Forcing myself to calm, I evened my breathing as I tried to call up my memory of what I had done. A phrase I had half prayed, half cried, resounded in my mind. “ _Don’t fall, trust Altaïr.”_ Right – trust Altaïr. I could do that. _I can do that._ Closing my eyes, I tried to find my sense of Altaïr, bring him to the forefront. Nothing happened, so I tried to dig deeper, looking inside myself for the ancient assassin. Still nothing.

_Alright, that isn’t working._ Instead, I pulled up when I had last felt the echoes of Altaïr, when we were both flying through the air. Our emotions had mirrored each other, the excitement bleeding and blending between us as shared passion. _Alright, maybe emotions are the key – or is it just sharing something with Altaïr?_ I tried to imagine how Altaïr had felt, as he faced the last obstacle to chasing the Templars out of Masyaf. Impatient, angry, righteous fury, glee that he was the one who could deliver the killing blow?

I clenched my fists as I thought of the Templars, waiting just above me. The murderers were prepared to starve out the assassins, force us into a terrible siege, lock us in with our dead and a shortage of food and drink. Had they not thought that we had not prepared for this possibility? We had more plans than just this one trap – there were secret exits, underground springs, and storehouses full enough to see us through an entire winter. These fools would not kill us; no, we would return their gift unto them. All I needed to do was climb this last obstacle, and then they would be sent running from the town.

I approached the tower with renewed determination, knowing that I was myself but at the same time taking almost the side-seat to Altaïr. Or, no, I was still the one driving, but he was the one who ran the car. I was the captain, telling the ship where to go, and Altaïr was the one who would get us there.

The wall started out solid, clear, with nothing to grab onto but the ledge above my ahead. I launched myself at the wall, feet digging into even stone as they pushed away and up, my momentum allowing me to grab not the ledge, but the wooden bar above it. I hauled myself up, crouching on the ledge and moving to the right before I rocketed upward once more, crawling up a window before shooting left and up, entirely in the air as I reached for the crevasse in the wall. I grabbed onto the bottom ledge, momentum carrying my feet flying as I tried to regain purchase against the wall. One foot hit the stone but I let the other continue to fly, an outlet for the energy trying to carry me off of the wall and into the abyss. _Not falling, not falling, not falling, not falling!_

I hung limply from the wall, trying to regain my focus, trying not to let my fear overcome my determination, trying to keep the fact that I was Altaïr in mind. I might have fallen if it was me in my ungainly form, I might have stumbled if I was in Desmond’s disused body, but I wasn’t in either of those. I was in Altaïr’s body, and he _would. Not. Fall._

With my purpose and determination rediscovered, I began climbing once more. Up the I-shaped hollow, onto the ledge, leaping backwards _trust Altaïr_ to grab the edge of the wooden post, and sling myself onto the narrow platform. Run up the wall, grab the window, climb up the window, grab the rock, _if I go right I can avoid having to_ launch outwards once more to grab onto the wooden section attached to the outside of the building.

Mentally screaming, I found myself hanging onto the wooden struts and the rest of myself dangling helplessly in the air. _Climb up, climb up, climb UP, Altaïr!_ I pulled myself up purely by my arms, legs swinging purposefully as I progressed upwards before I finally had all four limbs connected to the building once more. I quickly crawled up the rest of the odd outcropping, hauling myself up over the ledge until I was standing on the top of the wood. I knew from prior practice that I was almost to the top of the tower, and my blood burned as I anticipated what trap could have been set for the Templars.

As I cleared another large section of empty wall to grab at one of the last outstanding stones, satisfaction was already building in my veins. When I crested the edge and reached the top of the tower, I was quite pleased to find that, indeed, there was a trap ready to rid us of the Templars no sitting just below me. I drew my sword as I approached the other side of the tower, relishing the sound of good steel being drawn to rid the world of bad men.

The ‘trap’ was, in fact, a large selection of logs that had been stored inside the tower. The only thing keeping the wood from tumbling out and crushing everything below was a wooden panel, secured in place by a strip of wood stretching out in front of me. With a wicked grin, I sliced the wood in two and watched as the force of the logs sent the door flying outwards. I watched from my ledge as the door moved to form a slide, angling the wood at the army below.

Suddenly I could see Robert, the logs falling behind his clueless face as I stood above, and avenging assassin to rid _my_ home of this filth. I stood and watched as the wood began to crush his men, Robert hearing the sound and running away screaming. His men followed his near incoherent fall, or tried to as they were trapped and killed beneath the death I had loosed. I stood silent, watching as the logs bounced and the Templar’s bodies flew.

Many died in those few moments, and not many were lucky enough to live. Robert had only managed to escape without harm because his horse had bolted away at the sound. I was taking satisfaction in watching my work when my vision faded to white, and I began to feel the rushing of time passing.

I blinked into the whiteness, trying to regain myself. The mechanical voice helped, as Altaïr had certainly never heard such a distorted tone saying, **“Fast-forwarding memory to a more recent one.”** I had barely managed to pull myself back from Altaïr at all but my vision was already clearing, and I was standing in front of Al Mualim with a crowd of assassins at my back and two at my sides.

“You did well to drive Robert from here,” Al Mualim began quietly. “His force is broken. It shall be a long while before he troubles us again.” He paused, and began again, more forcefully this time. “Tell me, do you know _why_ it is you were successful?”

I turned around and stepped away, but neither Altaïr nor the memory let me go any farther. Pleasure at the praise warred with wariness at my master’s tone. I kept silent, almost afraid to speak. I knew what I wanted to say, that I was successful because I had trained and worked vigilantly until I was strong enough to complete any task required of me, but I knew that was not what he wanted to hear. Yet, I did not know what he expected. Did I succeed because I had a fellow assassin at my side? No, for neither had accompanied me any further than my fall, had instead nearly ruined this entire mission with their failure. Did I succeed because other’s had prepared the trap beforehand? Yes, but I had prepared similar traps myself before, and I had been the one to release this death upon their heads. What was he expecting?

Al Mualim did not give me long to wait. His voice, when he spoke, was both forceful and quiet. “You listened!” Oh. Admittedly, that wasn’t something I did very often, because most people had very little to say that was not worthless. Yet, what was his point? I said nothing, and the silence stretched for another long moment before he spoke again, “Where it that you listened in Solomon’s Temple, Altaïr. All of this could have been avoided.” Anger began to build within me as I understood where he intended this very _public_ conversation to go.

What would he have had me listen to? I had listened to Malik, and all I had heard was him crying out the code. I followed the Assassin’s Creed – Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted. I did what was needed, what was necessary to complete the mission. And though Malik had complained and cried against my actions, not once, _not once_ had he offered his own suggestions. I could not hold my tongue against my response, no matter the consequences. The truth must be heard. “I did as I was asked-“ The master held up his hand, and I stopped, know that speaking when the man raised his hand led to his hand being raised to your flesh.

“No, you did as you pleased!” His voice was losing its calm edge, and I took a step forward in indignant anger. “Malik has told me of the arrogance you displayed, your disregard for our ways!” Of _course_ it was Malik; he had cried out to the Master, and as he was now the favored one, Al Mualim was granting his wishes and punishing _me_ and me alone!

Suddenly the two assassins at my side lunged forward and grabbed my arms. I was slow to react, as for the second time, I was grabbed from a side I had assumed safe from those that were supposed to be my allies. Panic was rising, but I ensured it was only anger in my voice – although even anger alone would never have led me to speak out as I just did. “What are you doing?”

Al Mualim began pacing as he spoke, and I tried to stay still in my captor’s grips as to avoid a harsher punishment. “There are rules, and we are nothing if we do not abide by the assassyun’s creed! Three simple tenants, which you seem to forget!” He suddenly spun around and reached for me, grabbing my chin in his deceptively fragile-looking hand. The firm grip kept me from pulling back as he moved in close. I fought the instinctive urge to move back, knowing that his hold on my head and the guards at my side would keep this move from being anything more than an unseemly jerk of my legs.

He slowly released my face and moved backwards only slightly, his angry eye glaring fiercely at my own. “I will remind you,” he began, finally stepping away once more. “First and foremost, stay your blade –“

“-From the flesh of an innocent, I know.” Though the words were innocent, I kept my tongue respectful. I knew these words, and could only hope that my words would remind him of this fact. I couldn’t help but look away and down momentarily, and I couldn’t even tell why. _Is this some sort of guilt, or fear of his response?_

A sudden pain was sprouting against my cheek, the burning feeling coinciding with the slap the Master had just given me. I had pushed too far, and he was striking out. As my head was forced to the side, over the ringing in my ears, I heard the master’s quick response: “And stay your tongue! Unless I give you leave to use it.”

I looked upwards once more, unwilling to let any weakness show. The pain from the slap was a mere pittance, but its purpose was not the pain – it was the shame. He had slapped me, in front of my ‘brothers’, the treacherous snakes I could no longer trust to help me if the success of the mission counted on it. Today had only proven this fact thrice over.

“If you are so familiar with this tenant, then why did you kill the old man inside the temple?” Al Mualim’s words were fierce, and I couldn’t help but look away once more. Perhaps killing the man had been wrong, but he was working in the Templar base, and he had been in the way. “He was _innocent.”_ The last word shook with rage, and I had to accept the fact that I maybe had done wrong. “He did not _need_ to die.” I looked away once more, unwilling to face this fact or Al Mualim’s anger. “Your insolence knows no bounds.” _Maybe not looking at him isn’t the best idea._ “Make humble your heart, child, or I’ll tear it from you with my own hands.” His fists were clenched as if to do just that, and I wondered just how literal he would be with his words. At this point, with his anger, I wouldn’t put it past him to actually rip my still-beating heart out of my chest.

He continued speaking, calmer once more. “The second tenant is that what gives us strength. Hide in plain sight; let the people match you such that you become one with the crowd.” His eyes were still very furious as I met his gaze once more. “Do you remember? Because as I hear it, you chose to expose yourself, drawing attention before you struck!” He could only mean the lone guard, the one that had stood alone with none nearby, the guard that could not have possibly bested me – with or without two assassins backing me up, the guard that was so far removed from the rest of his group that he could have shouted for hours without anyone hearing his alarm.

“The third and final tenant, the worst of all your betrayals,” I have betrayed NOTHING! “Never compromise the brotherhood. It’s meaning should be obvious: your actions must _never_ bring harm upon us, direct or indirect!” My actions had not – why was he not screaming this into Malik’s face, whom the Templar’s had tracked to our home? My attack had been ruined by Malik, so I returned home as swiftly as possible – what in those actions was a betrayal?

“Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger!” How is attempting to kill or worst and strongest enemy when he was at his weakest selfish?! “Worse still, you brought the enemy to our _home_. Every man we’ve lost today was lost because of _you!_ ” I flinched back at the words, trying to understand. Why was it my fault that the Templar’s had followed Malik? Should I have remained hidden in Jerusalem with my failure? _Should you maybe have told the rafiq in charge and had him carry a message via pigeon? Perhaps lied low until the furor died down, and then you might have noticed Malik and his tail and assisted them?_

“I am sorry,” the Master spoke as he walked back several steps and pulled a knife out of his leather. The words seemed to actually sound sincere, but they were at firm odds with the blade he had just pulled out. What was the Master intending to do? Trepidation began to fill me as he continued, “Truly I am, but I cannot abide a traitor.”

I pulled back, anger forcing down the fear, and I spoke as clearly as I could, trying to force the understanding across. “I am _not_ a traitor.” I failed you _once_ , made the single error in judgement of trusting Malik at my side – I never betrayed the order! _I don’t think Altaïr is even capable of betraying the Assassins – not consciously, at least._

Al Mualim shook his head, staring down at his blade as he spoke softly. “Your actions indicate otherwise.” The panic that I had forced down before came rising back in full force. I was no traitor, but what might he do to me if he believed I was? His intentions for the blade were becoming clearer, and I couldn’t help but think back to what he’d declared only minutes before – that he’d tear out the heart from my chest. The wicked curve to the knife suggested that it would be exemplary for preforming just such an action.

He stepped closer and closer still, and my panic rose as he spoke, “and so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you, Altaïr.” I was shaking my head rapidly, denying what was happening even as he lunged forward, blade extended. Sudden pain bloomed in my abdomen as his blade struck true, piercing through my protective leather and piercing my softer underbelly. Betrayal filled my eyes as I looked up with pain to my mentor, a groan escaping unheeded from my lips as I fell to my death.

I felt my consciousness fading away for the last time as I fell to hang limply, held up by my two guards as the last of my strength fled my body. I was dying, publicly denounced as a traitor, with everyone ‘knowing’ me to be a betrayer. There would be no reward waiting for me in the emptiness after life has ended. My death was not a happy one. As life faded away to be replaced with black, I felt myself slide away from reality, losing myself with every drop of blood and then I was

gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Well… it’s done? Um. Yeah. So, it’s been a while, and this chapter isn’t the best. I am sorry, but I left myself no choice. Well, I received AC4 for free through Xbox live gold, and that helped revive my Assassin’s Creed need. I played it – I’ve made it through to Edward FINALLY meeting the local assassins, and I am sick of the game. There is no honor, no reason in the deaths. I killed assassins, looted ships, murdered innocents – no. NO. So, here I am, with a much better assassin. *Looks up, reviews Altaïr’s current actions* Erm, eventually – hey, even now, Altaïr is so much better!  
> So, the wait… well, if nothing else, this story had the shortest wait? I’m going to try and update my stories that I haven’t updated in years… don’t know if I can, but I’m going to try. I’m also probably going to fail, but…  
> I’m sorry this chapter isn’t the best. It kind of got away from me. I didn’t really regain control until… about when the logs collapsed? Yeah… I was expecting this segment to be short, as it was only 6 minutes and 54 seconds of video. Except, I think (and I haven’t checked yet)(and I’m back, over 7k words holy crap) that this is one of the longest chapters so far.   
> I certainly expected to finish writing it two hours ago… but you didn’t come here for my complaints, rationalizations, and long author notes. Just know that everything about my character’s backstory is real. I didn’t really want to mention the whole gymnastics thing (2 years, I kind of stunk – I was always heavily built, even as a little kid) but Ann decided that, nope, she wanted to distract herself from falling (not that it worked). And since I generally cede to my characters wishes… (and now even my own analog is running roughshod over me. What even – I don’t even know.)
> 
> Chapter stats:  
> Date uploaded: April 20, 2015  
> Date last updated: April 20, 2015  
> Words w/o A/N: 7,248  
> Words with A/N: 7,631


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